


Titanic Saga

by genagirl



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 44,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genagirl/pseuds/genagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A three part story about the titanic and what if the boys met there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tempt the Waters

Tempt the Waters

Part 1 Titanic Saga

By Gena 

 

April 10, 1912 - Southampton, England

Blair Sandburg carelessly dropped the duffel containing his good suit, a clean shirt and a few personal items but clutched the case full of books to his chest like a beloved child, gazing up at the monstrous ship in silent wonder. Never in all his life - in all his travels - had he ever seen anything to rival White Star’s newest ship, Titanic. Even the name, soaring hundreds of feet above him, inspired shivers of awe. "Second class. All second class passengers this way," a uniformed mate shouted. Amid a swell of people, speaking a variety of languages, Blair made his way up the gangplank. He’d been lucky to get passage on this wonderful new ship, and now he was heading home. Home, Cascade, Washington. Cascade might be a rough and ready mining town but it was the only place Blair Sandburg could think of running to. He’d spent four years roaming the world, learning from the finest minds he could find, studying cultures he’d never even heard of until he’d stumbled over them, building his base of knowledge in hopes of being accepted to a teaching post at Oxford. But that dream lay like shattered glass at his feet. Now, degree in hand, he was returning to America but instead of triumph all he felt was betrayal. Samuel Kensington, friend and mentor through the toughest times, had deceived and lied to him in the most hideous of ways possible. 

Blair dashed at the sting of tears that memory evoked and steeled his heart against the pain. It had been a breathtaking time, Sammy’s friendship had lifted him from loneliness and introduced him to the elite of British academia. They’d had so much in common, shared so many interests that it had been like two halves of one whole finding each other. Blair had shared his research with Samuel, he’d poured out his theories and ideas to this closest of friends. He’d believed Sammy’s enthusiastic declarations of pride and basked in the older man’s apparent affection, secretly flattered by the display of attention. It hadn’t been until his own paper was rejected for publication that the consequences of his friendship with Kensington came out. His research, even his words were attributed to Samuel Kensington, soon to be professor at Oxford University. Blair had watched him leave and wondered just what he’d ever done to be punished like that. He’d gathered his belongings that very night and only by the greatest stroke of luck had he secured a berth on the magnificent ship. Below, on the dock, a car horn sounded, Blair looked back in time to see a sleek black car pull up. A swarm of servants began unloading a mountain of luggage. Blair looked at his own meager possessions and sighed, maybe someday he’d be traveling in first class but right now he felt blessed to be traveling on the Titanic, he wouldn’t have even complained if it had been steerage.

* * * 

James Ellison closed his eyes against the pain and leaned heavily on his cane. The sound of the great ship’s engines, the babble of voices and the cloying scent of perfume sent his head reeling. The sudden desire to hurl himself under those massive propellers throbbing beneath his feet, hit Ellison like a hammer between the shoulder blades and if not for his wife’s grip on his arm he would have cast himself into the water. "Jim," Carolyn hissed, "Jim, please. Let’s just get to the cabin." She directed their servants and the mound of baggage they had like a tyrant, verbally lashing them when she suspected insubordination. Jim trailed the group, breathing deeply of the salt air and willing his nausea to subside. When they reached the cabin and he was finally able to collapse onto the couch, Carolyn started in on him, "are you going to be like this the whole trip? Really Jim," she scornfully drawled, "the fainting virgin hardly does you justice." Ellison opened one eye and regarded her for a moment. Carolyn Plummer Ellison was a stunning woman; her red hair and green eyes were set off by a milky complexion but her soul was as black as coal. He’d thought he loved her, and maybe he had in the beginning, but too much had passed between them to continue the pretense. Since his "condition" had developed in the last six months, Carolyn had shown her true feelings for him. When the mysterious spells had first struck, Carolyn had been furious, seeing them as Jim’s ploy to escape their social obligations. Her opinion had changed little since then even though physical evidence showed he was suffering.

If he’d expected caring and understanding from the woman he’d married, Jim had received neither. Even in the throes of pain, she expected him to squire her to all the social events. Jim found he couldn’t do it. When one of the episodes hit, he had to have peace and quiet, he had to forcibly rein in his senses with will power alone. He had no idea what they were, knowing only that they had begun during a camping trip to the Pacific Northwest. He’d become separated from his companions for several days. At the time, he’d experienced nature with such intensity, such clarity, as if he’d never even seen a tree before. He could see birds miles away, hear the deer running through the trees, smell wild flowers over the next ridge. It wasn’t until being reunited with his friends that the heightened nature of his senses had hit him. He could almost control them - sometimes anyway, if he concentrated but the effort drained him to exhaustion. Many times a friend’s over-excited greeting sent him into spasms of pain, or the smell of a woman’s perfume made him vomit. Carolyn had been humiliated. She’d insisted they travel to Switzerland and the clinic of Dr. Hans Luter, but the learned man had no answers. Jim had gone to visit other specialist, and each said the same thing, there was nothing wrong with him. So now they would head home, and Ellison knew as soon as they reached St. Louis, Carolyn would persuade his father, Joseph, to place Jim in some cozy little sanatorium where he wouldn’t harm anyone, east of all Carolyn’s social aspirations. Of course, she’d be free to spend his money as she pleased, on whatever and whoever she wanted. Jim sighed and closed his eyes again. The muted throb of the engines increased in pitch, the ship surged forward and the cheers of passengers and well-wishers alike pierced his temples like a blade. It was going to be a long trip, of that Jim was certain, and one he had a feeling he’d remember for the rest of his life.

* * *

Moonlight streamed across the deck like silver paint. Jim sighed in relief as the brisk air caressed his face, cooling the sweat which had begun to trickle down his temples. Carolyn had insisted they have their first shipboard meal in the First Class dining salon, despite his pleas of exhaustion. It wouldn’t do for Mrs. James Ellison to be stuck in her cabin when she could be cultivating the favors of Mrs. Astor or Mrs. Guggenheim. So he’d plastered on a civil expression and played the gentleman, but the price had been dear. It had gone well until the main course was served, Jim had never liked pheasant and the Titanic’s chef had prepared it with all the spices he could find on board. The resulting taste mixed with the heated room and the jumble of smells had overwhelmed him. Barely able to excuse himself he’d headed for the exit on rubbery legs and stood leaning against the railing for several minutes until a concerned crew member had asked if he needed help.

"This can’t go on," Jim murmured to himself. "I can’t go on like this." Determined to end it there and then, knowing a cold grave in the Atlantic could only be more pleasant than some snakepit with a fancy name, he headed towards the stern. Getting to Titanic’s third class region proved difficult. No stairways lead from the first class decks to those of their lower income neighbors. Jim found he had to wind his way along narrow crew stairs, climbing down to below decks then back up until he stood on the wide fantail. The night was amazing, stars so brilliant and clear he felt as if he could reach out and pluck them from the sky. The ocean looked like black glass stretched out as far as he could see and Jim almost smiled at that; he could see a long way. "What a beautiful death," he whispered. With a faint chuckle he stepped closer to the railing, leaning out over the churning waters and breathing in the scent of salt and oil and death. 

"In China they say all death is beautiful," a voice observed from somewhere behind Ellison. Jim spun, startled that anyone could get so close to him before he was aware of them. A young man stood regarding him with calm eyes. Jim knew those eyes were blue and as deep as the ocean itself just by the glint of starlight reflected in them. Something, some inner wisdom and pain filled the round face and Jim found himself drowning, not in the cruel sea but in the warmth of those eyes. "I, however, say life is much more beautiful."

"But much more cruel." Ellison stepped back as the young man moved towards him, pressing himself against the railings like a caged animal. Some instinct told him that the touch of this man’s hand would undo him, it would bind him to this world as surely as a chain. The stranger was beautiful, his eyes, the full lips curled into a slight smile, the fall of dark curly hair brushed by the faint breeze. He looked wild and free and untouched by civilized influence despite the suit and tie he wore. Jim had long ago accepted his preference for members of his own sex, as a youth he’d experienced several romantic friendships with the sons of his father’s business partners, so his instant attraction to this man came as no shock merely a surprise at its intensity. Marrying Carolyn been an effort to appease his father, though continuation of the Ellison line had already been insured. Jim’s younger brother, Stephen, had already married a nice woman and produced an heir but Joseph Ellison had demanded the same of his eldest son. 

"It doesn’t have to be." Acting as if Jim wasn’t cowering against the rails, the man moved to stand next to him. Jim could smell the scent of his hair, the sweat off his body and he ached to hold this man once in his arms before he cast himself to the sea. When the stranger turned, his blue eyes locking with Ellison’s, Jim found himself wishing desperately that he could have a lifetime with this man. "Whatever the problem is, it should be faced not.....," the man glanced into the dark waters, ".....avoided."

"Life means only pain, Sir," Jim whispered. He felt the lithe body move a bit closer to his, heat radiated from the younger man, burning his soul with desire. "Too much pain can drive a man to rash actions." He suited deed to words and slowly reached out, hand drawn by the man’s nearness. Satin skin, faintly stubbled by beard, blood thundering just beneath it, the scent of arousal, all caught Jim by surprise.

"Pain can be soothed away," the stranger answered, also in the barest of whispers but to Ellison’s ears it sound like a shout. Jim watched, mesmerized, as the stranger leaned forward, lips lightly brushing Ellison’s in a kiss which made him think for a moment he had jumped over the railing and plunged into the bottomless deep. He drew back and lost himself in the indigo depths of the man’s eyes.

* * *

They made do with a storage closet. It was cramped and smelled of soap, but with their coats spread upon the floor and their bodies pressed tightly together it was heaven on Earth. Jim let his hands work free of his mind, they roamed over the compact body unhindered by thought. This creature, seeming a gift from the cruel sea, moaned, writhing as Ellison caressed his face. They could heard the distant echo of footsteps and the danger excited passion to fevered pitch. Barely able to contain himself, Jim pulled the younger man’s shirt free of dark trouser, planting kisses along the furred belly. Each hair imprinted itself on his awareness, each finger which whispered over his own skin left a trace of heat and musk he could feel long moments later. Lost in these heady sensations, he was surprised to find himself flipped over onto his back, the other man straddling his hips. They kissed, mouths hungry in a way food had never inspired, tongues dueling and exploring. Jim felt clever fingers move over his groin, his erection jerking as it was caressed. He buried his face in the stranger’s long hair when the buttons down the front of his trousers were slowly undone. Never in all his life had Jim felt anything like this, he’d had wild sex - wild sex with other men, but this....this was different. This fantasy creature called to things deep in his soul and made him feel alive for the first time in his life.

"Oh, god," the satyr moaned, "who are you?" Ellison had no time to answer, his mouth was captured and the ability to speak deserted him. Hands and mouth working, the stranger stripped Jim down to bare bones and proceeded to grind those beneath his hot body until nothing remained. Clothing long shed by quick hands, Jim could only nod as his companion canted his head in questioning then slid taunt thighs beneath him. Pre-cum and spit slicked the opening to his body letting two fingers work their way inside. Jim clamped his mouth shut as fire spread from the invading probe but velvet lips pried his apart for a soul shattering kiss and pain disappeared beneath a blanket of fervent excitement. He cried out, wordless plea, which was sucked deep inside the man’s mouth just as his cock was pushed deep inside Jim’s body. Pain flared from their joining but faded as he was soothed with gentle hands. "Sssh," the younger man whispered, kissing him again. "I won’t hurt you, beauty." He kept his word, rocking gently until Ellison demanded more. Sight, sound, touch, smell, taste, all seemed to swell, filling Jim with a burning fire which devoured all thought and reason. He let himself go, knowing only that this man controlled his mind and body and wanting nothing more than that for the rest of his life. They moved together, arching, bucking, grasping, swept along until both tumbled over the edge of reality and into something bright and all encompassing. 

"Oh, god," Jim muttered. He felt as if he’d been lost within a blizzard, wandering in some alien landscape and only a steady drumming sound reached through the limbo to touch him. Ellison slowly opened his eyes, vision clearing to reveal that he lay on his back, blanketed by the warm figure who had so thoroughly fucked him. The drum which had called him back to the world was the rapid beating of his lover’s heart. Though the room was chilling and smelled and they were in danger of discovery at any second, Jim found he had no desire to move. Something in the man’s eyes had connected with him, he felt as if he’d known this soul all his life or in a life long passed. "J-James Ellison," he whispered.

The limp figure draped across his heaving chest stirred. Two satisfied blue eyes regarded him with amusement. "What?"

"You asked who I was," Jim reminded him. He couldn’t resist running his fingers through the wild mane of hair and closed his eyes as the sensation of damp curls sent chills up and down his spine. "James Ellison," he quirked a smile at his lover and added, "forgive me for not presenting my card. I seem to have misplaced them."

"Along with your trousers," a smile lifted the full lips and settled within the eyes. Quiet laughter enfolded them and suddenly had Jim calculating how long it had been since he’d enjoyed sex. Carolyn, when he performed his husbandly duty, made cruel remarks if he failed to achieve her standard and with that reward in mind he’d often failed. The stranger sobered, though amusement still lighted his eyes and leaned into Jim’s hand with a sigh, "Blair...Blair Sandburg." Jim returned the smile, stilling almost immediately as the sound of footsteps approaching caught his attention.

"Blair, someone’s coming," he urged the younger man up, sorting clothing and tossing the smaller items to his lover. "Hurry, get dressed."

"I don’t hear anything," Blair whispered.

"Trust me on this," Jim replied. They’d just managed to cover themselves when the footsteps stopped outside the closet. Jim flipped off the light, shoving Blair into a corner and pressing his larger body against him. The stacked crates wouldn’t do more than hide them from a casual glance but he hoped it was enough. The door opened, the light flicked on and a man appeared. Searching for a second, Jim feared they’d been discovered but then the man plucked a crate from the floor and left. "Close!"

"Exciting, isn’t it?’ Blair chuckled. He looked up at Ellison but made no move to escaped the close press of their bodies. Jim let his hands raise to cradle the beautiful face and then gently kissed Blair’s mouth. Never had any of the others wanted this, for them a quick mutual release and a good laugh and it was over. Jim had never been able to explain how lonely he felt afterwards, how he longed to hold someone close and share the lingering pleasure. He sucked at Blair’s full bottom lip and could feel the scalding heat, the slight moist warmth as they opened, and smell the sweet scent of his breath. Falling into the wonderment, he let his sense of touch take over, filling him with Blair’s presence like nothing ever had before.

"Jim! Jim!" Awareness rained down on him in the form of two hands desperately clutching his face. Ellison shook his head, dislodging the hands and staggering into a pail and mop which promptly koshed him on the temple. "Shit," Blair squeaked, "are you alright?" The hands returned, this time massaging the sore spot over Jim’s right ear.

"Yeah, I think so." He gazed down at Sandburg, cheeks flaming as he prepared to tell his companion about the strange condition which had befallen him. "Uh, Blair....what happened...I mean, after we....I don’t know what’s wrong....the doctors don’t either." Seeing the concern, the clear blue compassion Sandburg leveled at him made Jim slump to the floor, gripped by the hopelessness of his future. "God, Blair, I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I’m going crazy."

"No, Jim," Blair followed him to the floor, determination etched across his features like a war mask. "Tell me what’s wrong. I want to help." The soft assurance in those words, the kindness and growing affection he could see, made Jim nod. He took a deep breath and, hoping his new friend wouldn’t desert him, he began to tell Blair everything.

* * *

April 11, 1912 - Queenstown, Ireland

"Mr. Astor would like you to shoot with him this afternoon." Carolyn’s voice broke the strained silence which had persisted between the chink of silver on china. Jim looked up, startled from his daydream by the reality of his wife. After the fantastic evening spent making love to Blair Sandburg and the enthusiastic hope the younger man had imparted to him, Ellison’s dim vision of the future had cleared. Until Carolyn intruded. "I really must invite them for tea once we reach New York," she shot him a speaking look before adding, "please don’t burden Mr. Astor with news of your....spells."

No doubt such a disclosure would make the James Ellison’s undesirable in the upper circles. "I’m sorry Carolyn," Jim said, folding the newspaper he’d been pretending to read, "I’m not feeling well. I plan to stay in the cabin today and rest." He couldn’t miss the fury in her green eyes or the slim hand which convulsed on her linen napkin. He waited for her to rage at him but coherent words seemed to have failed her, she uttered a furious growl of anger, gathered her heavy skirts, just as Molly, their maid, reached her with a cup of coffee. Jim could heard the slosh of liquid striking the cotton dress. He watched the coffee stain each fiber before soaking the next. It was spectacular to watch, but his attention was ripped away from the dress by the sound of a slap.

"You stupid little fool!" Carolyn drew back her hand for another strike, but Jim was on his feet and clutching her arm before any more harm could be dealt. 

"Stop it, Carolyn," Ellison bellowed, "that wasn’t Molly’s fault, it was yours." He dropped her arm and turned to the sobbing maid. "Are you alright, Molly," he asked in a gentle rumble. Carolyn didn’t wait for the girl’s reply, she snatched her hat and parasol and stormed from the room towards her own bedroom. Jim felt a sigh of relief escape him before he could stop himself. The little Irish maid caught his eye, her tearful features hiding just the tiniest bit of humor. He winked at her and earned a soggy giggle in return. "Molly," Jim admonished, "we shouldn’t upset Mrs. Ellison." Then he grew serious, "If this ever happens again, you are to tell me, Molly."

"Yes, Sir," the girl smiled broadly at that and asked, "Will you be needing me?" Molly hesitated, casting a worried look over at one of the few first class gentlemen who treated all of White Star’s employees as equals. She knew other stewards and stewardesses whispered about their charges, but she had refused to comment on the handsome man saddled with ill health and a shrewish wife. He had treated her kindly and fairly, unlike the woman he’d married did. If Mr. Ellison required anything she would do her best to help. "Shall I send for Doctor Blackwood?"

"No, Molly," Jim said with a gentle smile, "I’ll be fine." He watched her retreat, touched by her concern. She was just one of the many people who, given the chance, showed they held real compassion for their fellow humans. Those thoughts turned mind back to Blair Sandburg. He’d never met anyone like Blair before; such knowledge and enthusiasm packed in a such a gorgeous package. Blair’s thirst for knowledge, his quest for understanding had been almost as erotic to watch as seeing him sweating and satisfied after the lovemaking they’d shared. Jim had found hope sparking, kindling a tiny flame in his heart as he spoke to Sandburg. Hope. Such a small word but containing unlimited possibilities. Maybe he really wasn’t going insane as he’d feared, maybe he wouldn’t end his life in some dark room, locked away from the rest of the world.

It had been Sandburg’s face which had given Jim hope; that look of awed fascination had pulled the truth from him like a magnet. At first haltingly and then in a torrent as the damn fear had built ruptured, Jim had told it all. There had been no disgust or disdain in Blair’s face, not like the loathing he’d watched creep over Carolyn’s, all he saw was belief and an unwavering wish to help. "My god," Blair had gasped, "I’ve read something on this very phenomena! I had a professor send me a monograph when I was at Oxford. It was written by an explorer named, Richard Burton." Blair had gone on to explain Burton’s theories about something he called "Sentinels", individuals who’d gained a genetic advantage over generations. These individuals were responsible for protecting the tribe, finding game, tracking their enemies. "It’s amazing," Blair had declared, his eyes shining with delight, "you must carry the gene and your time isolated in the forest brought it to the fore again."

Jim, once his fear had been assuaged, had begun to relax. He trusted Sandburg. Despite having only known the younger man less than a day and him being an academic with little practical experience, Jim knew Blair Sandburg would never let him down. "How can I control these, Blair?" Jim had wondered. "I can’t go on like I was," he whispered.

"I’ll help, Jim," Blair had told him in a voice resonant with determination. "Burton said the Sentinel always had a companion, a guide to watch over him, to help him filter out the excess stimulation so the Sentinel could focus on his job. I could...I could be your guide....until you found someone else," he hastened to add.

Jim, staring at that earnest face, had suddenly realized he didn’t want anyone else. "This guide, is it genetic with him, too?"

"Burton doesn’t say. He implies it’s more compatibility than anything," Blair shrugged. "I’m sure I’ve got more information. I’ll meet you tomorrow and we’ll talk about it." He’s smiled then and leaned close to plant a lingering kiss against Jim’s mouth.

"You’re the expert. I’ll do whatever you say, Chief." The nickname had made Blair sparkle. "My....wife always has engagements during the afternoon. Why don’t you come to my cabin and bring your books." With one last kiss they had parted, each to their own separate existence but somehow neither felt as lonely or adrift as he had before.

Jim shook himself free of the lingering spell of Blair’s presence, he would see the younger man in a matter of hours. Pacing the luxurious room like a tiger, Ellison wondered if it would be as easy to free himself of the encumbrances being Joseph C. Ellison’s eldest son incurred. Blair, there in the moon less night air, had told him about Cascade, Washington and his hope of starting a new life there. When Blair spoke of the place, Jim had seen it clearly, he’d pictured himself standing on the shore looking out over the water, Sandburg right beside him. Jim wanted that picture to come true, he wanted to cast off James J. Ellison, son of Joseph Ellison III, and become Jim Ellison, his own man. And if James Ellison had anything to say about it only hell’s raging fires would deny him a chance to start over with Blair.

Ellison heard Molly move back into the room, she busied herself with hanging Carolyn’s many gowns, readying her afternoon clothing for the time she would come back to change for tea. Jim resumed his pacing, startled to find hours had passed since the breakfast he’d shared with his wife but silently urging them swifter so that he could share the company of his lover. Waves sparkling in the mirror over the fireplace drew Jim’s eye, he stopped his skittish movements to stare at the scene. They were as blue as Blair’s eyes and just as expressive and a smile of remembrance graced his own reflected image. Jim let the controls drop, he cast his hearing out like a net. At first he thought the sheer mass of sounds would split open his skull; a thousand voices descended upon him, laughing - talking - crying, footsteps, doors closing, bells chiming, it all slammed into him with the force of an explosion. And then, just when Ellison thought he could take no more, a sound stood clear of the cacophonous mix; a heartbeat. Following the rhythmic beat which had drawn him out of limbo the night before, Jim listened to the sound of his new guide muttering to himself. Everything else began to fade, he could no longer hear anything but Sandburg’s breathing and the beat of his heart, and just as reality blinked out, Jim thought he heard Blair call his name.

"Mr. Ellison!" Molly O’Connor could only watch in horror as the man crumpled to the floor. She rushed forward but couldn’t prevent Jim’s head from striking the corner of the marble fireplace. Blood gushed from the wound, dotting her white uniform apron and staining the Italian rug. "Henri! Henri, I need your help!" Her frantic call brought the steward running, together they were able to roll Jim onto his back where Molly pressed her handkerchief to the streaming gash. "Run for Dr. Blackwood. Hurry."

* * *

Jim groaned, wincing as someone drove a knife blade into his brain and swirled it around. He felt hands grip his arms and legs and lift him. "Easy, Mr. Ellison," someone seemed to be calling from the bottom of a well, "just take it easy." He wanted to make them go away and let him have the peaceful darkness again but light began to filter through his closed eyelids and he could feel his mattress beneath his back. A cool cloth began to sponge his face and Jim could smell the coppery tang of blood within it. "Mr. Ellison?"

"W-what happened?" Jim croaked. He pried his eyelids open and almost cried out as the light sent shards of glass-like pain slicing through him again. 

"Draw the curtains," a man’s voice urged. "There, Mr. Ellison, please try to open your eyes again." A light touch settled on his face, turning his head away from the window.

Ellison sucked in a breath and slowly opened his eyes. Blair Sandburg stood against the door leading into the rest of the suite, his expressive face pinched and drained white. Jim offered, what he hoped was an encouraging smile, and waited but Blair seemed frozen in place. "Mr. Ellison," the voice he’d heard before drew Jim’s attention. An older man, white hair gleaming in the dim light, smiled down at him, "you took a nasty blow to the forehead but I can find no permanent damage. I see you were prescribed laudanum," he gestured to a bottle sitting on the night stand, "have you taken any today?"

Blair’s sharp breath made Jim turn to him, the bloodless features were quickly flushing with anger. "No, I took it a couple of times when we were in Switzerland but.....," he paused, unsure how to explain the horrible feeling the drug left him with, "I....it made me.....small," he finished looking directly into Sandburg’s eyes. Blair nodded once, his knotted shoulders relaxing with a noisy sigh. "I....just got dizzy."

"Well, I want you to rest today," Doctor Blackwood advised, "I’ll let your wife know......."

"No," Jim cut him off, "my wife needn’t be disturbed." He suffered the good doctor’s attentions for a while longer then gladly said good-bye to the man. "Chief?" Sandburg had stood there silently, refusing to be moved when Dr. Blackwood suggested Ellison should be left alone to rest, leaving it to Jim to explain why a second class passenger, clutching a stack of gilt-edged books, should be given free reign in his cabin. "Chief?" Jim repeated, "Blair, talk to me."

"I should’ve been here," he whispered and the books tumbled from his arms to land in a messy heap. "I should have known something like this would happen." Blair stepped over to the bed, settling gently and reaching for Jim’s hand. "You could have died," his voice sounded fragile in the still air.

"It was my fault, Blair," Jim said and squeezed the fingers wrapped around his. "I...I was looking for you. Well, listening for you," he explained when Blair frowned down at him. "I-I can’t explain it, really. It was like sending my hearing out along the ship. I knew what I wanted to find and....and then I heard you mumbling about Peruvian hunters." Sandburg gasped, his hand pulling free of Jim’s with such force Ellison had to close his eyes for a moment at the sharp pain the movement caused. 

"Y-you heard me?" Blair asked. His eyes were wide, excitement making them dance, "I felt you....I-I thought I heard you in the room with me." The Titanic’s bells, the sound of the waves against the hull, the faint tinkle of laughter couldn’t touch them within the embrace of their shared gaze. Blair leaned closer, pressing his mouth to Jim’s then raising it to gaze into his eyes. "I thought it was a dream," he laughed softly before claiming Ellison’s lips again. Jim drank the sweetness of that kiss, feeling Blair’s mouth move over his face, exploring his cheeks and chin, then faintly trace the wound upon his forehead. The tender caresses sent shiver through his body arrowing directly to his heart with smoldering passion.

"Chief, let me at you," Jim panted. He slipped his arms up around Sandburg’s shoulders, easing the younger man as close as possible. Blair responded sluggishly, hesitant to break the seal of their mouths even for the heat of their bodies melding together. He moaned low and raw as Ellison shifted him to lie on top of his larger body. "Perfect. So beautiful," came Jim’s satisfied voice. Persistently, he kept at Sandburg, managing to remove the rough jacket he wore as they kissed. "Ssssh," Jim blew into Blair’s ear when the younger man began to protest, "I just want to feel you next to me."

"Jim," Blair licked at the skin of Ellison throat, "you’re not ready for this." His hand slipped between them, rubbing across Jim’s lax groin, "let’s wait until you’re more able to enjoy it." Sandburg’s intelligent eyes roamed over his companion’s face, "did the doctor give you anything for the pain?"

"Some powder. I’ve got the laudanum," he reminded Blair.

"No! I don’t want you taking that!" With a swiftness Jim found confusing, Sandburg snatched the bottle up and hurled it towards the fireplace. "It’s made of opium. I’ve seen old Chinese men spend days in a stupor after smoking opium. It’s bad stuff, Jim. You said you only took it a couple of times?"

"Calm down, Chief," Jim soothed. "I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in six months, Blair. Some nights I think I’ll take a gun out and end it all," he placed his hand over Blair’s mouth, preventing the onslaught he knew this declaration would provoke, "one of the doctor prescribed it for me but....but after taking it I saw terrible things, black beasts with golden eyes following me, weird tribal rituals, crazy things. That’s in the past, Blair, I slept wonderfully last night." He reached up to capture Sandburg’s face with one hand, "thank you." Blair’s cute blush made him laugh but it quickly turned into a huge yawn. "If you stay I think I could sleep right now."

"Well, Blackwood did say you should rest." Blair planted a chaste kiss upon Jim’s cheek and rolled off the bed despite Ellison’s protest. "I’ll sit right here, Jim," he indicated an overstuffed chair next to the bed. "I think it would be safer for us both if the staff doesn’t walk in to find me curled around you on the bed." Jim sighed but agreed and before Blair had retrieved all his books Ellison was fast asleep. Blair reached out stroking his hand down the sleep softened features, a strange vulnerable air swirled around Jim, visible in the deep fatigued lines of his face and the dark smudges beneath his eyes. Blair felt his heart turn over and a profound need to protect this man settle into it. With renewed determination, Sandburg prepared for some deep research into Burton’s Sentinels. 

* * *

Carolyn Ellison made her way from the ladies writing room, her letter to Joseph Ellison a burning ember carried in one slim hand. "Have this marconied, boy," she told a young steward scurrying along. With any luck her father-in-law would be able to journey to New York before James’ suspicions were aroused. She’d hoped that the doctors would find a cure for her husband’s peculiar affliction but the trip had proven a waste of time, except for one spot of luck - traveling to New York amid the cream of American society. Carolyn had no doubts about her abilities to persuade Joe Ellison to have his son locked away and had begun to set that plan into motion with her letter. Jim had never really been his father’s favorite and the tension between the two had reached an all time high once Jim had begun having these spells. Of course, Carolyn would want only the best for her ailing husband and suggest a hospital in New York and being the devoted wife she was, she would move to the East Coast to be near him. In a way, Jim’s illness was a blessing to her, if he died his money would pass to Stephen but if he were merely incapacitated she’d control his vast share of the Ellison wealth. With so many socially elite people on board Titanic, Jim’s rumored infirmity would only serve to set her up as "that poor Mrs. Ellison - her husband so ill and so much time on her hands". Carolyn smiled.

"Carolyn, my dear," a fragile call broke through the sound of her future and Carolyn spun to find Lady Astor and several of her friends moving along the promenade towards her. "I’m surprised to find you out taking the air."

"But it’s such a lovely day," Carolyn returned. "Such nice weather for April, don’t you think?"

"Yes, dear. It’s just that I expected you would be caring for Mr. Ellison. Our steward, Henri, was explaining why he was late bringing in brunch. It seems he was needed to fetch Doctor Blackwood to your cabin." Carolyn felt the flush of embarrassment darken her cheeks. Brunch had been hours ago and yet no one had come to tell her of Jim’s latest bout with his sickness. "Or are you taking a break from nursing that poor young man?" Mrs. Astor’s shrewd eyes seemed to plunge deep, and Carolyn feared her intense dislike of her husband might be plainly visible to such a sharp gaze. She had to fight her first instinct to lower her own gaze.

"Yes," she answered stiffly, "it’s very taxing to care for someone as ill as Jim twenty four hours a day."

"At least he has that nice, young man to keep him company," one of the ladies said quickly. "I hear he’s a professor of some sort. Such a nice looking boy, too."

Carolyn managed a slight smile, "Jim makes friends quite easily. I must be hurrying back." She gathered his skirts and made hastily for the exit. Behind her the excited chatter of women speculating on another’s marriage infuriated her. She made her way down the first class corridors, barely taking note of the oaken luxury but smiling charmingly at all the wealthy passengers she chanced to meet. She could feel the heat of her anger building with each step she took. How dare he take up with some....boy! Jim’s preference for male company had never been a big issue with them, though she’d once had hopes of presenting Joseph with a grandson, but she would not stand for a shipboard dalliance with some gold-digging boy to make her a laughingstock. 

"Mrs. Ellison!" Molly’s round face registered shock as Carolyn burst into the suite and made for her husband’s bedroom. "Mr. Ellison is resting, ma’am. The doctor left orders he wasn’t to be disturbed." 

"This won’t disturb him," Carolyn hissed and flung open the door. She stopped abruptly in the doorway, her eyes taking in the quiet scene she’d interrupted. Her husband lay in his wide bed, pale skin gleaming warmly. She could see a white bandage over his right eye, the center stained pink from blood and sitting beside the bed like some guardian was a wild looking creature with a mass of dark curls tumbled around his shoulders and silver spectacles framing cold blue eyes.

"You must be Carolyn," the man greeted. "I’m Blair Sandburg and I think we should talk outside." Shooting Jim an unreadable look, Sandburg rose from his chair and took her elbow. Carolyn didn’t have time to protest before she found herself in the sitting room, Blair still holding her arm.

"I will not be manhandled," she swore and jerked her arm free. This made Sandburg smile and the sudden urge to slap his face overwhelmed her. She never connected with his cheek, Blair snatched her hand as it neared, squeezing until she squeaked in frustration. "Release me."

"Don’t try to hit me again," Blair warned but let go of her. "Now, Mrs. Ellison, I’m not sure what the problem is but this isn’t the way to solve it."

"You - are - the - problem," she ground out. "Don’t think you’re the first, Mr. Sandburg, not by a long shot. My husband had had many....friends since our marriage. But I’m his wife and that’s what counts." She sashayed to the window overlooking their terrace, tossing a triumphant smile over her shoulder when Sandburg’s expression registered his shock. "I know, it’s hard to lose, especially someone with little hope for the future...."

"Excuse me," Blair moved like a panther. Standing directly in front of her he was eye to eye, "I don’t think you understand what’s going on here. Jim Ellison needs my help and nothing you can say or do will prevent me from doing all I can for him." He let the disgust show through his expression, "I know someone as kind and generous as Jim couldn’t have done anything to deserve you, so why don’t you do him a favor and get out of his life."

"And leave the way clear for you!" Carolyn’s harsh laugh echoed around the room, "I’ve invested too much to give up now."

"I don’t think that’ll be a problem." Jim leaned against the door frame, face weary but determined. "Blair, I think I’d like some air." He let Sandburg take his arm, leaning a bit more than necessary on the smaller man. Together they moved out into the corridor.

"Ellison," a booming voice made Jim cringe, only Blair’s grip on his arm kept him standing. "Feeling better, old man?" Ben Guggenheim inquired. "We were all sorry to hear you were ill."

"I’m fine, Ben," Jim assured the man. "Mr. Sandburg and I were just on our way out to take some air." The boat deck was nearly deserted in the early evening glow, most of the first class passengers readying for dinner. Arm in arm the two men made their way towards the bow of the majestic ship. Jim turned to the man at his side, struck speechless by the sun’s setting golden aura washing over Sandburg. "You look like some kind of angel fallen from the sky," Jim’s hoarse whisper cleaved the silence between them and made Blair smile.

"And you," Blair traced one finger along Ellison’s chin and down his chest, "look like the statues I saw in Athens, come to life." He turned back to the ocean and Jim stepped close behind him. To the men, standing there at the very apex of the deck, it felt as if they were flying low over the green sea. The breeze streamed through Sandburg’s dark curls, caressing Jim’s face with intimate affection. He slipped his arms around Blair’s waist, concentrating on the supple strength in that slim body. "God, Jim," Blair’s voice floated back to him, "if I die at this moment I don’t think I could have loved anyone as much as I love you." He laughed, but Jim could hear tears mocking the happiness. "I’ve known you, what, one day and I love you." Blair turned, his face wet with the tears Jim had heard in his voice, "I love you."

"I know," Jim whispered. He pulled his lover close, resting his cheek against the silken curls and let the great ship rock them. "I’ve always known it." 

* * *

April 12, 1912 - Atlantic Ocean

"Okay, now concentrate, Jim," Blair instructed, "hear only the sound of my voice and let it guide you." Sandburg tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and wiped his wet palm across his trouser leg. It was late afternoon and Jim and he had been working with Ellison’s senses on and off for ten hours. He’d managed to get Jim focused on his voice, leading him through the things he wanted the Sentinel to try. When Blair had ordered clam chowder, curry, cherries jubilee, and a poached egg then proceeded to mix them together and hand it to him, Jim had balked.

"I’m not tasting that!" Ellison had pushed the concoction away, his face dark with annoyance. "Listen, Chief, you can’t just expect me to do every little thing you order me to. I’ve got some say in this too!"

Setting the bowl down with exaggerated care, Blair removed his glasses, folded them and put them in his pocket before rising. "Yes, you do, Jim. You have a big say in this, and if you’d just trust me I think I can really help you." He’d shrugged and started for the door, praying Jim wouldn’t let him reach it.

"You’d go?" Ellison’s shattered question stopped him with his hand on the knob. "You’d leave me because I wouldn’t taste some garbage you mixed?"

"No," Sandburg moved over to him, one hand going up to cup Jim’s cheek, "no, not because of that, because you can’t trust me. I love you, Jim. I want to help you." He waited, searching the sky blue eyes above him. He saw the exact moment Jim committed himself, a radiant light blossomed within the cornflower depths, swelling until it blinded them both to anything but the other.

"I trust you," Jim murmured, "help me, please." After that they had worked out a routine of testing the limits of Jim’s heightened senses. Tasting the noxious liquid, Jim had sorted out the ingredients one by one, reporting his findings with wonderment. They’d moved on to smell and Blair had Jim find a scented satchel he hidden on the boat deck. Ignoring the strange looks they received as Ellison tracked the parcel like a human bloodhound, the two men tramped along. "Here it is, Chief," Jim had called, holding up a tiny herb bag, which he’d just retrieved from beneath the cover of one of the lifeboats. He cast a puzzled glance over the small wooden boat then asked, "there aren’t very many of these things, are there?"

"No need. They claim this ship’s unsinkable. Now come on we can work on your sense of touch." And they had. It had taken the biggest part of the afternoon, charting Jim’s abilities to distinguish between different textures. Blair offered his own body, for purely scientific reasons, as research material. "What do you feel?" Blair watched, fascinated, as goose flesh prickled Jim’s naked back. He again drew the silk scarf over a shoulder blade and smiled at the reaction it provoked.

"I feel like a science experiment," Jim told him. Sandburg laughed, dropping his chin to rest on the powerful body.

"Sorry," Blair apologized with a kiss which turned into a prolonged oral exploration of Ellison’s spine. "How ‘bout now?" He reached over to the table beside his bed and placed his watch chain on the bare skin.

"God, Blair!" Ellison dislodged his lover with a convulsive shiver and turned over to glare at his unrepentant partner. "You’re in big trouble, Chief." He pounced, tumbling them over the edge of Blair’s narrow bunk and onto the hard floor. "Uhmmmph," he wheezed, as Sandburg landed on top of him, "you weigh a ton."

"But a big strong fellow like you shouldn’t have any problem holding me up," Blair teased. He lowered his mouth for another kiss. "As good as this is," Sandburg said, pausing between words to nibble at Ellison’s chest, "I could really stand to chew on something a little more substantial."

"Yeah? Well, Mr. Sandburg," Jim said, "I happen to have a table reserved at Cafe Parisien." He consulted the pocket watch tangled in the linen, "if you get dressed we can just make it."

"And if I don’t dress?" Blair inquired.

"We won’t make a meal until New York," Ellison declared. Only by keeping their backs to each other as they dressed did they make dinner. Blair took the opportunity their meal provided to hone Jim’s sense of taste, making him sort out the spices until Jim chucked a sprig of parsley at his head. "I swear, Mr. Sandburg," he chastised, "is there no limit to your curiosity?" 

"Not where you’re concerned," Blair answered. The look he received made Jim drop his fork. 

"Mr. Ellison," a silently attentive waiter appeared with a new utensil.

"Ah, the attention money can generate," Blair observed. He turned serious eyes upon his companion, "Jim, are you sure...do you really want to give up everything you have and come to Cascade with me?" He dropped his gaze, not sure he could take the truth if it turned out Jim had changed his mind. He’d made the mistake of planning a future once before, a future which involved someone he thought had feelings for him, albeit, tentative ones. The feelings he had for this man seated opposite him were somewhat more than tentative. To Blair it was like breathing for the first time, seeing the world with new eyes, everything had a crystal sheen around it when he spent time in the Sentinel’s company. He didn’t want it to end - ever, and when Jim had said he wanted to journey to Washington and start a new life, every dream he’d ever had, came true for Sandburg.

"Blair," Jim drew his eyes with the soft whispering of his name, "I want nothing more in life than I have right here." He reached out, briefly squeezing Sandburg’s hand. "I’ll never lie to you so don’t doubt me. Now," he winked at his lover, "come on we need to finish our experiments, Professor." 

* * *

"Where have you been?" Carolyn’s voice, coming out of the dark sitting room, didn’t surprise Jim as he entered. He’d heard her short, angry breaths as he opened the door, but relaxed and totally happy from loving Blair he let her rancor roll off him.

"After dinner I retired to the lounge," he blinked when the light snapped on. Carolyn’s cheeks were flushed red and her mouth was a thin enraged slash across her face.

"And yet you were too ill to join me." She rose, moving towards him as cold and stiff as a museum masterpiece. "I won’t be disgraced by you, James. I’ve provided a home and tried to provide a family," she raked him with cool eyes, "but time and again you’ve shown you have no concern for my welfare."

"Carolyn, I don’t want to fight," Jim began to step around her but his wife halted his movement with a hand against his chest. "Carolyn," he warned, "I’m not in the mood for this."

A nasty chuckle erupted from her throat, sending a stab of annoyance down Jim’s spine. "I’m sure I can guess what you’re in the mood for, James," she purred. "And how is Mr. Sandburg? Has he explained how expensive research can be? Did he wonder if you could possible extend a little loan to a poor man?" Ellison brushed her aside, his long legs taking him to his bedroom in a few strides but her laughter followed him inside. 

* * *

April 13, 1912 - Atlantic Ocean

Though chilly, the weather was pleasant for April in the middle of the Atlantic. Jim appeared at Blair’s cabin shortly before breakfast and to keep things equal between them, shared the meal in the second class dining room. Because of his noticeably expensive clothing, Ellison caused a slight stir but managed to put the staff at ease with his matter of fact attitude. Blair watched it all, his expression a mixture of amusement and trepidation. After the meal, Titanic’s myriad of decks beckoned the two men into the sunshine. There were nine decks in all, the two first class promenades being 700 feet in total and they ambled along both before Jim insisted they investigate the gymnasium, though he refused to climb aboard the electric camel despite Blair’s pleading. The Turkish Bath drew their attention as did the swimming pool. Lounges, smoking rooms, down to the squash court on F deck, passed the kennels, and back up the Grand Staircase with sunlight streaming through its glass dome and washing Honor and Glory in golden splendor. After a light lunch in the ivy covered Palm Court to sustain their strength, Jim drew his lover back to the first class suite.

"I’ve missed you," Ellison murmured into the ear beneath his lips.

"Mmmm, we’ve been together all day." Conversation lagged as Sandburg planted a moist kiss on Jim’s sternum. Ellison sighed, reaching up to let his hands explore the hollow of Blair’s back. The curly head settled on his shoulder and Sandburg’s own sigh nosily brushed his chest. "This is the most perfect day of my life."

"What?" Jim chuckled, "I thought the time you spent in an African hut, learning the secret rites of their witch doctor was the most perfect day of your life."

"No, you misunderstood," Blair pushed himself up so that he could look into Jim’s eyes, "I said that was the perfect adventure. My whole life has been fun, but today....today was perfect." The smile on his face took Jim’s breath away. He captured the luscious mouth and, to be fair, stole Blair’s in return.

Slow, deep kisses felt like tiny burning embers dropped onto the Sentinel’s skin to sizzle their way through to his heart. Ellison tried focusing on Blair’s murmured words as the sensations threatened to drag him under. Skin rubbing and sparking desire, he ran his hands down the lean back to cup Sandburg’s compact buttocks. It was like holding the sun in the palms of his hand and he could only moan as Blair tightened his muscles and the firm globes seemed to pulse with pleasure. Jim found he couldn’t stop himself and shifted around until Blair lay beneath him, a delight the likes of which he’d never beheld before. "I want you," Jim’s husky voice growled, "I want to be inside you like you were inside me. I want us to be one now and forever." Sandburg’s smoky gaze provided permission and with another hot kiss, Jim set about bringing pleasure to his guide.

He let his mouth trail down Blair’s throat, eliciting gasps and moans from them both as he nibbled sweet skin. Buried within a curtain of hair, Jim spotted a peaked nipple and latched onto it like a babe suckling its mother. The lithe body beneath his bucked, threatening to throw him off the bed and a laugh escaped his lips, "I seem to have found something you enjoy." Blair only pressed himself higher, seeking the mouth again. It took long moments of careful worship before Jim moved lower, his mouth a devouring beast intent on tasting all of his lover. He whispered love for each part he kissed, pledging to perform the ritual daily for the rest of his life. Blair thrashed, helpless under the assault and Jim pinned his wrists against the sheets. "Love you. Love you," came a strangled chant when Jim finally reached his goal. He licked the hot column of flesh, the unique taste of Sandburg exploding upon his palate. "Suck me, Jim," Blair groaned and Jim happily obliged. The pleasure was sweet agony, he wanted to swallow Sandburg to his armpits but he could only take in the thick cock to the root. Blair thrust into his mouth, crying out his love and need and finally coming in a scalding spray against the back of Jim’s throat.

Ellison swallowed each drop, concentrating on the taste of his lover, imprinting Blair’s essence onto his memory for eternity. He wanted the moment to last forever but too soon his lover subsided with a final shudder. When he looked up, the sweat soaked angel tangled in his fine sheets caused his insides to twist themselves into a knot which settled just below his ribs. "Oh, Blair," he rasped, overcome by the emotions his lover inspired within him, "how did I ever live without you?" Sapphire eyes smiled up at him and one heavy hand crawled across the sheet to grasp his. Jim had never seen anything as beautiful as Sandburg lying lazy and warm before him, his throbbing cock seemed to seek out this wild creature, demanding its pleasure. 

Jim’s hands slid over Blair’s heaving ribs, sweat dripping off in their wake. He grasped the slim hips, raising his partner’s butt to rest on his own thighs before pushing Blair’s legs up towards his chest. "Mmmm," Sandburg purred as he was forced double, "do me, Jim." It was the last coherent words he spoke for some time. The sight and smell of his eager lover overrode Ellison’s fragile control, with an animal growl he plunged into the hot, tight opening and lost himself within his guide. He could hear the cries of pleasure Blair made and feel the exquisite pressure of contracting muscles around his cock but inside his head he was soaring above the ocean like a bird. With his eyes closed, Jim experienced flight, knowing somehow Blair soared beside him where he belonged - where he had always belonged. The sun rose before them painting the sky and their magical wings with crimson and gold. He turned as the heat seared his body and saw Blair meet his gaze with absolute confidence. In the instant before they exploded into that burning orb he smiled and said, "I love you, Blair."

"Love you, love you, love you." Somewhere the words echoed along, accompanied by the familiar beat of Sandburg’s heart. Jim pried open one melted eyelid and regarded the wanton figure he sprawled upon. Blair’s passion bruised lips, the smoky eyes, dark dusting of beard and Medusa tangled of curls caused him to lick suddenly dry lips. "I should get back to my cabin," Blair whispered. Jim’s stomach clenched at the thought of his lover leaving. He cast a glance over at the clock, 11 PM. Carolyn had long retired to her own bedroom and the maids had orders not to disturb him because of his need for rest. Blair could safely leave now and not encounter anyone or he could wait until morning. Molly would knock on his door at 8 AM to announce breakfast, Blair could elude the servants if he left at 7, but more than anything Jim wanted to sleep in his lover’s arms for the rest of his life, starting that very night. 

"Stay, Chief," Jim asked, "stay with me tonight and always?" The look in those blue eyes told him he’d made the right choice. 

* * *

April 14, 1912 - Atlantic Ocean

Sunday dawned cold and gray and Jim thanked the gods for the warm bundle curled in his arms. He’d lain awake for hours, listening to the ship and all her tiny souls waking from the long night. When the engines had increased their speed, he could not only hear the higher pitched whine but feel the increased vibrations along every nerve in his body. He was no seafaring man but even he knew they were traveling at a much faster pace now than they’d been on the first day of the journey. It this continued they might reach New York ahead of schedule and he and Blair could set off for their new life. Jim had no illusions about it being easy; he knew Joe Ellison would fight to keep what was - be it money or his own son.

The younger Ellison realized that, though it wouldn’t be easy, both he and Blair would survive. His lover had never known the comforts and privileges of wealth, he had a profession and career greatly in demand where they would be heading. While Stephen had been content to live the life of the idle rich, Jim, on the other hand, had spent his time learning to run his father’s lone sawmill on the banks of the Mighty Mo where it met the Mississippi. Over Joe’s objections, his son had learned the business from the ground up; insisting on first hand knowledge of each step in the process. To Jim logrolling was something he could do without even thinking about it, nimbly leaping from one to the other with his pike in hand, he could turn timber into lumber, and he could keep the books so that he knew where every penny went. He smiled down at the figure sleeping peacefully at his side and knew they would be fine.

Hours later when the sun began to rise and the ocean changed from black to jade, Jim leaned down to kiss Blair’s soft lips. It was like breathing life into a painting; slowly like Boticelli’s Venus rising, the mouth beneath his came to life, tongue darting out to trace Jim’s lips as a gently breath caressed his cheek, and then the fathomless eyes which opened drew in the light from the room, sparkling like rare blue diamonds. "Morning, Mr. Ellison," Blair smirked. "Is that the way you greet all your overnight guests?"

"Mmmm," Jim nuzzled a thick curl with his nose before saying, "only the guests who share my bed." Kisses turned into passion and like a fire spread by strong winds, they were consumed. It wasn’t until Ellison drew back, alarm written across his features that Sandburg understood the problem. 

"Christ, Jim," Blair hissed, "I need to get out of here!" He scooted from the big bed, stumbling over the mound of clothing they had carelessly shed the previous night. 

"Easy, Chief," Jim soothed with more calm than he felt. What they’d done was illegal in both Britain and the States, if they were caught in the act disgrace would be the least of their problems. "Okay, use the window," he quickly crossed to the porthole which faced the promenade, "take the stairs down to the second class smoking room then make your way to your cabin." He kissed a stubbled cheek, hastily presented to him and shoved his lover out the window. "I’ll meet you later, near the.....I’ll find you." Sandburg disappeared from his sight down the ladder but Jim tracked him all the way to the smoking room, then and only then did he set about greeting the day.

* * *

"Well, Ellison," Colonel Astor called when Jim entered the A La Carte for lunch with Carolyn on his arm, "it’s about time you joined us!" He was an older man but his years in the military had imparted a ramrod straight posture and no nonsense attitude. Jim respected J.J. Astor in a way he’d never respected his own father. Astor had a sense of honor about himself, he was a shrewd businessman and a ruthless competitor but he’d set a standard for himself and never broken it. Joe Ellison’s only standard was "do it first, before they do it to you". Jim didn’t like doing business with people who feared him and because of the Ellison reputation, he was often forced to. It had taken some years of working the sawmill to prove his integrity but slowly the name of James Ellison was beginning to be distinguished from that of his father. 

"He’s been in bed most of the trip," Carolyn explained. Her malicious smile found only Jim’s eye, "He’s had me terribly worried."

Ellison knew the rules of the game but ignored the invitation, instead he held his wife’s chair and seated her next to Mrs. Astor while he and the Colonel settled down to talk. Social duty turned into golden opportunity and Jim found himself cornered by half a dozen men interested in a sawmill being built along the Fraser river, near the town of Cascade. He lost track of Carolyn as the women retreated to the main lounge on A deck.

* * *

Carolyn saw him pass the windows just as she began to sip her tea. Knowing it would seem odd but doing it anyway, she excused herself and rose from the group to hurry after her husband’s lover. "Mr. Sandburg." She had the satisfaction of seeing his cool expression heat, cheeks coloring as he realized who it was calling his name.

"Mrs. Ellison. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Carolyn smiled at the stressed word and took his arm.

"I thought we should get to know one another," Carolyn explained, "since we’ll be fighting for the same prize."

"I didn’t know there was a competition," Blair explained sweetly. 

Carolyn laughed, "Oh, Mr. Sandburg, I think you know very well we both want the same thing." Distracting him with her pleasant chatter it wasn’t until they stopped before the Ellison’s cabin that Blair wondered what she was up to. "Do come in, Blair. May I call you Blair? Mr. Sandburg is so formal and I feel we will be seeing a lot of each other." She waltzed inside and turned to smile at him. Blair hesitated on the threshold, suddenly convinced he’s seen that very expression on his last visit to the Natural History museum, if he remembered correctly it had been around the predator exhibit.

* * *

"Ellison, this is Simon Banks," Colonel Astor introduced the tall, black man who stood and extended a hand. "He owns several thousand acres of timber up in British Columbia. I think you two could do some business." He left them to it with an amused shake of his head as Simon began to explain how the son of a slave had become one of the wealthiest men in the Pacific Northwest. 

It wasn’t until the shadows crept across the floor, distracting Jim from Simon’s riveting conversation, that he realized how late it had become. He glanced over at the clock, 4 PM, he needed to see Blair and share the welcome news of a partnership with Simon Banks. He and the lumber man had hammered out an agreement where Banks would skid his logs down the Fraser to a mill Jim would build. Railroads would take it from there and soon the Ellison Lumber Company would be supplying materials to the expanding cities of the midwest. Jim said his good-byes to Banks and had just headed towards B deck and his cabin when the scent struck him.

It was faint, just a teasing aroma skimming the air around him, but Jim homed in on it like a bloodhound. Blair. His lover had passed this way sometime recently. Quirking a smile to himself, Ellison concentrated on the scent, trying to find his guide with, what Blair called a gift but he secretly thought of as a burden. At first he couldn’t do anymore than catch a quick hit before losing Blair in the mix of salt spray, food, perfume, and things he couldn’t even begin to identify. But as he went deeper, following the invisible trail of heady scent, it was almost like seeing footprints in the sand. Somehow Jim found his hearing following the same marked path, he filtered out sounds so rapidly it was like tuning into one of those new Marconi wirelesses. He heard Blair’s voice clearly but before he could congratulate himself, Jim’s soul went cold. "She’s lying!" Blair protested, "I didn’t do a thing. I swear!" Carolyn’s voice, quivering and breaking with sobs cut in, "Please, please," she begged, "don’t let him touch me again!" Jim tried to free himself, tried to find his way back, but without his guide he had no anchor to reality. Uttering a silent cry of anger, Jim tumbled over the abyss.

* * *

"Please, please," Carolyn begged, "don’t let him touch me again." She hide her face in her hands, willing fresh tears to replace those triumph had dried. It had been a spur of the moment plan, luring Sandburg to the cabin, tearing her dress and screaming for help - trite but effective. Thank goodness that nice Officer Lightoller had been passing by. She cast a watery glance over at her rescuer and he instantly moved to her side, kneeling to press a handkerchief into her hand.

"I didn’t do anything," Sandburg was explaining. "Call Mr. Ellison, he’s a friend of mine, he’ll vouch for me."

"That’s...that’s why I let him in," Carolyn hiccuped, "he’s been so nice to my husband during his illness and then...and then...," she broke down in heaving sobs.

Her performance was cut short by the sound of feet hurrying down the corridor outside their cabin and then Molly throwing open the door. "Mrs. Ellison!" The Irish maid moaned, "Doctor Blackwood sent me for you. Mr. Ellison collapsed in the smoking room, he’s been taken to the infirmary!" 

"Oh my God!" The heart felt prayer did not break from Jim’s wife’s throat, instead Blair Sandburg, ashen faced and swaying with fear, whispered those few words before lunging for the door.

"Stop him!" Lightoller ordered the two seamen near the door. Blair found his arms pinned behind his back, he kicked and twisted but couldn’t free himself. 

"Let me go!" He yelled, "Jim needs me. I’ve got to help him." 

"Mrs. Ellison," the officer spoke gently to her, "I’ll take you down to the infirmary." Carolyn let him help her to her feet and leaned heavily on his arm. As the door closed behind her she heard the two crew members questioning Sandburg. "So you like it rough with women, huh? Maybe you’re a little faggot too? Did you do the same thing to Mr. Ellison each time you were "helping" him?" The sound of a slap made Carolyn conceal her grin. She leaned on Lightoller’s arm, playing the stricken wife.

The infirmary turned out to be several large white rooms. Lightoller escorted Carolyn passed a door marked Operating Theater and into a small ward. Four beds, two on each side of the room waited for those ill enough to warrant the physician’s attentions. Only the closest on the left was occupied. Jim looked like nothing so much as a body laid out for burial; pale, waxy flesh, slits of blue visible from beneath partially open lids, limbs lying in the boneless way of the truly unconscious or totally dead. Some residual spark of affection brought an involuntary gasp from her throat.

"He’s in a coma, Mrs. Ellison," Blackwood explained. "I’ll do what I can. I’ve spent many years studying exotic diseases, but I’ve never seen anything like this." Carolyn shifted her gaze from Jim’s blank features to the strangely excited ones of the doctor. The burning light in his dark eyes, the almost rapturous set of his lips spoke of the devotion this man had to studying what he’d never seen before. She smiled. Somehow Carolyn knew she wouldn’t have to worry about her husband’s medical attention with Dr. Blackwood nearby. Who knew, Jim could linger in a coma for a long time, maybe as long as funding for Blackwood’s research continued.

* * *

Blair paced the cabin, muttering to himself. He realized Jim had slipped into a kind of limbo, lead there by his overloaded senses. All of Burton’s research had indicated one major drawback to these heightened senses - the overwhelming aspect of too much stimulation. It primitive cultures the Sentinel, though facing real dangers, wouldn’t’ve had the struggle his twentieth century counterpart would. The modern world and all its advances would no doubt play havoc with Jim’s abilities, if Ellison sometimes concentrated on one sense so intently that he lost control of all them it would account for his blackouts. These "spells" as Carolyn called them, had to be what was happening to his lover. "I’ve got to get to him," Blair grumbled, "I can help him." The sound of footsteps stopping outside his makeshift cell, halted Blair’s agitated movements.

"Mr. Sandburg." The officer who entered Blair’s room stood regarding him with cool, blue eyes. His neat white beard and ramrod straight back gave the impression of great wisdom and character. Sandburg knew the man though they had never met, Captain E.J. Smith had patrolled the decks like an ever vigilant watchman.

"Captain," Blair nodded and didn’t give Smith a chance to say anything before launching into his defense, "I know what Mrs. Ellison has told you but I am innocent. Her husband, James, is my dearest friend and I would never harm anyone he cares about." Sandburg hoped Jim’s dislike for his wife hadn’t make itself obvious on board the ship. "He’s very ill but I believe I can be of some use in helping him." 

Smith continued to observe him in silence for another moment the, "The charges Mrs. Ellison had leveled are very serious, Sir, but having spoken with the woman I find it hard to accept her story." He nodded slightly to a burly seaman who waited near the door. "I will permit you to see Mr. Ellison in hopes of helping him, but you will be escorted at all times and will remain in your cabin for the rest of the journey." 

Blair resisted the urge to throw himself at the captain, nodding and saying only, "thank you," before the man left. A grin spread across his face and with a light heart he headed towards the infirmary. It wasn’t until he stood beside Jim’s bed that the happy feeling inside him fled. Ellison’s stillness, his complete isolation from Blair, off in some secret world, made Sandburg shiver.

"J-jim?" Receiving as much response as he would from a corpse, Blair’s knees gave way. A wooden chair caught his heavy body, breaking his fall with a resounding thump. "Jim, please," he whispered, "I need you to wake up. I’m in trouble here and I need your help." Looking down at the slack hand he clutched, at the vacant eyes, barely visible beneath heavy lids, Blair felt the first rush of loneliness hit him below the heart. What if Jim stayed like this, lost to him forever? It wasn’t fair, he’d just found this stubborn, proud man who made him feel treasure for the first time in his life. Jim loved him. Somehow this special man had seen passed his faults and decided to love him, and to lose that now, Blair realized, would kill him. When Samuel Kensington had betrayed him, taking credit for his life’s work, Blair hadn’t known such pain. When his own parents had been killed in a fire his heart had broken in half but the jagged wound he felt there now was a hundred times worse. "You’re all I have, Jim," Blair confessed, "all I have and all I want. I feel like I’ve known you my entire life after only four days. What will I do if you don’t come back to me? How could I face a future that didn’t have you in it? " He squeezed Jim’s limp hand, lifting it to his lips. "My friend, my brother, my Sentinel," slow tears trickled down his cheeks to land on Ellison’s fingers.

* * *

Jim stumbled along the path, wondering just where the hell he was. Fog, a smoky curtain which obscured everything, clung to his very footsteps. Ellison paused, knowing he could find his way out again if he just waited. He didn’t know how long he stood there, just breathing shallow breaths, but it was between one breath and the next that he heard it. Quietly, more a vibration than a sound, the guide he waited for impressed itself on his awareness. Jim sighed, relief washing over him until he felt lighter than air. He didn’t let himself think, just turned in a direction instinct had given him and began the task of finding his guide. The sound of Blair’s heartbeat grew with each step he took, pounding in his own veins, filling his heart with Sandburg’s rhythm. Inside his head Jim was running, racing headlong down a treacherous path towards the one person he wanted more than life itself. He looked down, feeling the hot sting and smelling the salt of tears upon his skin, and when Jim looked up it was into the dark blue eyes of his lover.

"Blair," he rasped. The effect was immediate, Sandburg’s smile widened, his tears suddenly seemed joyous and he reached down to brush the back of his hand along Jim’s cheek. Ellison stared, enthralled by this man he’d known only a short time. Blair meant everything to him, everything. He wanted to gather the younger man into his arms, so that they were never parted, he wanted to listen to Blair’s heart beat every single day of his life and he prayed that when death came it came to him first because even one second without his lover would be unbearable. "Oh, Blair," he said again and reached for his lover’s face. 

"Ssssh," Blair soothed, "we have company." A quick glance towards the door and Jim saw a uniformed crewman lounging against the doorframe, attention divided between them and the corridor. "How do you feel?" He watched the color slowly return to Ellison’s face, his eyes regain some of their sparkle as an affectionate grin spread across Jim’s features.

"I feel like holding you forever.....but I’d settle for sitting up," he tugged Blair’s hand, attempting to raise himself.

"Whoa, are you sure?" Sandburg quickly scooted around, supporting Jim’s back with a strong arm until he could pile pillows behind his back. "Dizzy?" He asked when Jim closed both eyes and took a deep breath.

"Yeah," the Sentinel admitted, "it’s always kind of wobbly afterwards. It goes away......"

"But I bet you have a headache, maybe feel like you’ve hiked all day," Blair guessed, "yeah, all that stimulation crashing along your neural pathways......," his fingers crept into Jim’s soft, brown hair, gently massaging his temples. "Better?"

"Mmm," almost purring, Jim leaned into his embrace. It felt like heaven; his friend and lover standing before him, warm hands soothing away the residual pain. All the times in his life his father had demanded Jim be strong, ignore the pain or hurt or fear and do what was expected but this time he let himself be comforted. Blair held him as if his arms had been formed for just that purpose. Ellison sheltered there, absorbing his lover’s love, drawing from Blair’s wellspring of strength. As overpowering as the need he felt to protect Sandburg from the world came a sudden aching desire for his guide’s protection in return. All his life he’d had to stoically endure; the heart breaking departure of his mother, his father’s determined rejection, the coldness of the woman he’d married, but he had stood it all. But not this time, not with Blair’s love surrounding him like some giant, sable cloak.

"Sir," the soft calling of another’s voice brought Jim back to his surroundings. The crew member who had brought Blair into the infirmary stood just behind him now, waiting. "I’m to escort you back to your cabin," he shrugged to indicate he could do nothing to change that fact. Blair blew a noisy breath, biting his lip and running one hand through the loose curls of his hair.

"Well," Blair cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to where his hand rested on Jim’s neck, "I guess if you’re feeling better, Jim." He glanced up and smiled, stealing the breath from Ellison’s lungs with that soul deep connection between them. "I’m sure you’ll be fine by tomorrow, I’ll see you then." His eyes kissed Jim, though his lips firmly stayed away. Ellison nodded slowly, just opening his mouth to bid his lover good-bye when his attention was wrenched away by a hammering blow against the side of the ship.

"What the hell was that?" Jim demanded. He could feel the shuddering decks beneath him, hear the scream of metal scraping along something hard, the sharp report of rivets popping but when he looked into Blair’s eyes all he saw was confusion. "Don’t you......hear anything?"

"Jim? I don’t hear anything. I felt the deck shift a bit," Blair admitted in a whisper, "what’s the sound?"

"Mr. Sandburg," the crewman touched Blair’s shoulder, drawing him back from the bed with a firm hand. "We must leave now." Jim shifted his hearing, focusing on the crewman. The man’s heart rate had sped up dramatically, and his eyes shifted to the door as if he couldn’t wait to finish his job with Sandburg. Blair nodded, turning away from Jim and squaring his shoulders.

Ellison watched his lover leave, black fingers of dread scratching at his mind. Concentrating, his hearing found the lower levels of the ship, what he heard made Ellison gasp. The roaring rush of water almost drown out the shouts of men trying to escape. Almost as if they were in the room with him, Jim listened to officers shout orders, sealing the water tight chambers which had made the ship "unsinkable". "Truly amazing," Doctor Blackwood observed from the doorway, his voice sending Ellison into a convulsive flinch. "I never would have believed it unless I’d seen it." He offered Jim a warm smile before moving to his side. "I wasn’t sure you’d be conscious by the time we reached New York and here you are wide awake. Mr. Sandburg was determined he could help if allowed to see you. Guess he accomplished his goal."

"Mr. Sandburg is a remarkable man," Jim said. Blackwood laughed. 

"Not as remarkable as you, Mr. Ellison. Your wife was kind enough to share information on your case with me," he leaned over Jim, stethoscope pressed to Ellison’s chest, "I found it quite interesting." Blackwood’s dark eyes moved over Jim as if examining a specimen in a jar. "I practiced medicine in Africa, Mr. Ellison and one of the things I found most fascinating was a warrior I met with the Zulu tribe. Truly extraordinary man. He could spot game a miles away, he could smell water under the earth, he was a godsend to his people."

Ellison froze, he could hear his own heart pounding within his chest and taste the fear drying out his throat. "W-why are you telling me this?"

"I just thought you might like to know you’re not alone," Blackwood said. Jim considered the doctor’s words for a moment, he implied he understood what Jim was experiencing but some deep bred instinct told Ellison this man wasn’t to be trusted.

"Look, Doctor," Jim began, he had to get to Blair, the little voice in his head was screaming danger and he’d learned not to ignore it, "there’s something wrong with the ship..."

Blackwood, though twenty years older than his patient, took advantage of Jim’s distracted state and groggy responses. Using the cover of repacking his equipment, Blackwood removed a hypodermic and stabbed the needle into Ellison’s biceps. "Sorry, Mr. Ellison," the doctor apologized, "your wife and I have come to an understanding." Jim shook his head, trying to free his brain of the fog settling into it. He had to get to Blair, the Titanic was going down and his lover could easily go with it. "Carolyn’s an exceptional woman, Sir. Don’t worry, Jim, you’ll be well cared for and your wife will see to your investments." Jim sank back onto the bed, his head whirling with sights and sounds. He could only watch as Blackwood rose, moving in slow motion, and walked out of the room. He struggled to sit up, one hand going to his head to halt the sickening spin, when his palm brushed across the tender knot where he’d hit his head. Pain lanced through his mind, a bright sharp light which pushed the haze back.

Ellison pressed harder, feeling the first sticky spot of blood as pain exploded behind his eyes. Though it hurt like hell, Jim kept his hand in place, willing the pain to overshadow the injection. When he could stand it no longer, he pulled bloody fingers away and stared at them. He paused a moment, taking an internal survey and was surprised to find he felt fine - except for a massive headache. His clothes were hung neatly over a chair so Ellison quickly dressed before heading off to find Blair. He kept listening for Blackwood’s return, but thankfully the doctor seemed convinced that his medication would keep Jim unconscious until they arrived in New York and he could be properly looked after. Ellison eased open the door, casting a look in either direction before venturing out. 

He could feel it; the deck listed ever so slightly to the starboard side. The ship was doomed, he knew it. For an ocean liner as well constructed as Titanic to sink, the damage had to be massive and from the sound of screams and shouts on the lowest decks Jim knew this was the case. He hurried along, finding his way down to D deck with ease. Jim rounded a corner, his senses screaming his lover’s name in his blood, making his heart thunder and his ears ring with the echo - Blair! A crewman stood just outside the door, it wasn’t the same one who had been with Blair in the infirmary. This one had cold, cruel eyes and when they met Jim’s a shiver ran down Ellison’s spine. He stopped before the sailor, "I need to see Mr. Sandburg." The seaman regarded him for a moment, amusement flickering in his gaze before he casually opened the door behind him.

"Jim!" Blair’s headlong rush towards him ended with a burly seaman’s arm across his chest, holding him just out of reach. The irrational surge of anger, wiped away any lingering shred of politeness from Jim’s mind. He snatched the man’s arm, twisting it back so hard his sensitive ears registered the pop of dislocation. The sailor’s howl of pain mingled with his own of rage and Blair’s command to stop. Teetering on the edge, knowing only that his guide was in danger, Jim reined in his instincts and listened to Blair’s words. "I’m okay, Jim," the younger man gentled, "really. No one hurt me," he added when Jim’s gaze settled on the hand-sized mark on his cheek.

"Don’t touch him again," Ellison snarled but the man didn’t seem to hear as he staggered from the room. "Blair." The relief of finding his partner after what seemed like years apart, filled Jim. He sagged against the smaller man, wrapping himself around Blair’s chest and tucking his head into a strong shoulder. "God, Chief, I’ve never felt so alone in my life."

Blair kissed Jim’s temple, pulling him impossibly closer to murmur, "not as lonely as I felt." For a long time they merely held each other, feeling the reality of the other but then Ellison stiffened and pulled back. 

"We’re in trouble, Chief," Jim warned him, "this ship is sinking."

"What? No, no, Jim," Blair pulled back, eyes wide with confusion and disbelief, "we can’t sink....you’re wrong."

"Blair," Jim lowered his voice, unconsciously slipping into the soothing cadence Sandburg used with him, "I heard them. I heard the officers talking. We hit an iceberg and we’re going down." He stared into his lover’s eyes, willing him to believe what Jim knew for a fact. When Blair nodded, the dazed eyes now frightened but determined, Jim smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Oh, Blair. Why is life so complicated for us? All I want to do is spend forever with you and now we hit a fucking iceberg."

Blair blinked, the glazed look in his eyes fading as Jim’s words sparked his sense of humor. He laughed, a affection filled sound which made Jim warm all over. "So what do we do?" Sandburg asked. Jim took a deep breath and relaxed a bit.

"Up on deck," Ellison ordered. "I can hear them giving the order to load women and children into the li.....lifeboats..." His voice trailed off and stark terror filled his clear blue eyes like a storm tossed sea.

"What?" Sandburg’s voice shook slightly as he realized Jim had just discovered something awful. 

"Uh, just some of the women don’t want to get in," Jim lied. He gripped Blair’s arm, pulling him along so quickly that the shorter man had to practically run to keep from being dragged. The scene on deck was anything but panicked. Men and women milled around in bulky white lifevests and a few women were entering the lifeboats amid chatter and laughter. The band could be heard playing from the first class lounge and several men were relaxing on the gymnasium equipment. Ellison headed for the railing, scanning the bow area near the waterline. "God!" He uttered in a harsh croak, "I can see it, Chief. I can see buckled panels and a bunch of jagged holes." He turned anguished eyes to meet Sandburg’s. "It’s real."

Blair moved against him, one hand resting on Jim’s chin the other on his shoulder. "Remember what I said the other day in this very spot?" Blair waited, saw memory flood Jim’s eyes and smiled. "I said if I died right then I couldn’t have loved anyone more than I love you," he risked a quick kiss pressed to Ellison’s mouth. "I still mean it." 

"I won’t let you die," Jim swore. Even as he said the words Jim knew the depth of their truth. He would not let Blair die. If he had to built a lifeboat with his own hands, he would get Sandburg off that ship. Concentrating, Jim could hear the radio crew trying to hail nearby ships, he heard the certainty in Smith’s voice as he told them to send the new SOS signal and advise all rescuers they were going down. Something flickering at the edge of his peripheral vision made Jim turned. For several moments he couldn’t understand the implication of what he was seeing and when he did a barking laugh broke from his throat. "We aren’t going to die, Blair," Jim announced. He swung Blair around directing his gaze with a pointing finger, "a ship, Chief. There’s another goddamn ship about eight miles away." He spun his lover around and crushed Blair to him. "A ship."

"Thank god," Blair whispered. Lifeboats were now being lowered, many of them barely half filled. Captain Smith appeared on the bridge, his gleaming white uniform a beacon of hope, giving the order to fire distress rockets. Through it all, as the deck tilted more and more, Jim watched the lights of the other ship. He heard the buzzing clatter of the Marconi, and crewman Phillips muttering to himself about a vessel named the Carpathia being too far away to reach them in time. Ellison cast a glance at the tantalizingly near ship, wondering why it didn’t come to their aid. "They’re going in circles, Chief," he finally whispered when it failed to come closer. The forward boats had all been launched and people were now streaming towards the stern. Pushing Blair ahead of him, Jim moved them in that direction. It was hard going, the tilt had increased as they waited for rescue which they both now realized wasn’t coming. 

"Mr. Ellison." A familiar voice halted the two men. Molly O’Connor snagged Jim’s sleeve, her face pinched with fear. "Mr. Ellison, you can get in boats on the starboard side," she whispered, "Officer Murdoch had been letting men go." 

"It’s okay, Molly," Jim assured her. "Blair and I will be fine. Did Mrs. Ellison get into a boat?"

"Yes, Sir. I saw to it personal," she told Jim. "I would have gotten in too, but Mrs. Ellison sent me back for her case," Molly held up Carolyn’s jewel case.

"Goddamnit!" Snatching the leather bag, Jim hurled it over the side of the ship. "Get in a boat now, Molly. And if Mrs. Ellison says anything about her jewelry you tell her I’d rather have her at the bottom of the ocean than you!" He picked the small woman up and carried her to the railing. A lifeboat was just being lowered as he handed Molly over the side and down into the arms of a waiting crewman. "Take care, Molly," he called as she disappeared into the darkness.

"We can take one more, Sir," and officer told Ellison. Jim looked to Blair.

"Please, Blair. Get in this boat," Jim begged his lover. "Don’t do this to me, Chief. If there’s a chance for you to be saved I need to you take it." He embraced the younger man, whispering, "I wanted to spend my life with you, Blair Sandburg. More than anything in my life I wanted it to be with you."

Blair smiled, his expression gentle, "it will be." He grasped Jim’s hand and pulled him away from the lifeboat. A ripple of panic swept over the ship as a group of men fought to flip an overturned lifeboat. It slipped into the waters rushing over the side of Titanic and miraculously stayed afloat like that. People began scrambling aboard it but Jim continued his journey towards the stern. Screams and shouting filled the air, the orchestra adding to the confusion as it played on and on. There were no more lifeboats and every one on the doomed ship knew it by then. Knots of people held onto railings as the bow began to slip under, prayers poured from their mouth’s towards God’s ear. 

"This is it, Chief," Jim said. They stood at the stern railing, holding tightly to each other as well as the cold metal railing. "This is were we met." He smiled then, tenderness filling his heart until it seemed that fragile human organ would burst with it, "and this is where we part." The scream of metal ripping drown out the screams of men and women being washed over the side, the forward smoke stack tumbled into the ocean like a tree falling from the ax’s blow. The bow plunged under the water, sending a wave rolling over the decks, washing backwards and sweeping people away like screaming insects.

"That’s where you’re wrong, Jim," Blair told him. He wound both arms around Ellison’s waist, pulling their bodies close, "together, always and forever," he whispered. Tears welled in Jim’s eyes, stinging with such sweet pain that he gasped. His mouth found Blair’s, sealing them heart to heart for one last time. He could hear it, the ship’s death rattle as it broke apart, the bow plunging down as the stern rose straight up into the air. Jim pulled back, seeing the tiny fleet of lifeboats hurrying to safety, the frantic motions of people already in the water. None of it mattered, the only thing which mattered to him was held tightly against his chest.

"I love you, Blair!" He shouted the words, flinging them away into the night, so that in a hundred years, in a thousand years when people came back to that spot and stood looking over the calm, dark ocean their echo would still be heard. He wanted God, who must to be listening to those suffering, to know that no matter what happened, no matter who lived and who died that James Ellison had loved Blair Sandburg with all his heart. "I love you!" He shouted again and crushed Blair against him for one final embrace.

"Not as much as I love you," Blair shouted in return. They smiled at each other, hope long gone into the darkness with the white flares no one answered, and climbed over the rail to cling like spiders to a fragile web. They looked down a hundred feet to the massive propellers suspended above the water. People thrashed helplessly in the cold ocean below them, others lost their hold and fell but Blair and Jim held on. Exchanging one more kiss, they held onto each other. The ship gave a final gasp, air blown out through windows and doors as water replaced it. The stern shuddered and then began its headlong rush for the bottom. Jim could feel the heat of Blair’s body against his, hear the rapid beating of his heart above the screams and prayers, and buried his face for one last instant in his partner’s curls.

"Hold on to me forever," Jim told his lover and then they were dropping towards the black water like stones.

Frigid waters slammed into Ellison, ripping Blair from his grasp like ripping his heart from his chest, his scream of long anguish was only one of hundreds. He continued to scream as water filled his lungs and began to drag him towards the ocean floor. He didn’t care if he died, death would be welcome after the searing pain of icy waters washing over him, but he wanted Blair beside him. He wanted to go to whatever waited on the other side with his lover wrapped within his arms but his arms were empty and blackness was filling his head. Fighting as he never had before, Ellison struggled for the surface. He could heard the thunder of legs kicking above him, people splashed in the icy water, crying for salvation. When he broke the surface, the air almost felt warm against his frozen skin, he could feel the cold draining his strength as he struggled to find his lover.

A drowning man latched on to Jim, clamoring onto his back in a bid to survive. Ellison howled in anger, shaking the man off as if he were a bug and began swimming. "Blair! Blair!" He called time after time, pausing to listen for his lover’s response but it didn’t come. He had no idea how long he swam in the black water, for an eternity he knew only fatigue and bone chilling cold. Each time he raised an arm to plunge it back into the icy water, fire raced along his spine and sapped a bit more of his will to survive. He called his lover’s name with each stroke, knowing he wouldn’t hear an answer but forcing himself to try. Jim knew he didn’t have long, blackest depression hit him, pulling him towards the grave which waited for him. He would never find Blair, he would die alone calling for the one person he had ever loved. Jim ceased his struggle, giving up hope for death but then something caught his attention.

He heard it, a sound which had become ingrained within his soul at the moment of his birth. Comforting, filling his ears, filling his heart, the sound washed over Jim, driving back the cold, driving back the fear and despair and flooding him with strength. Blair’s heartbeat reached out to him across the water like the welcoming beacon of a lighthouse, Jim knew it would lead him to safety. Ellison fought the growing agony movement brought and made his way for the large shape ten yards to his left. The screams of the dying had begun to fade, an occasional cry for help, pitiful to hear went unnoticed by him as he swam. The shape was a boat! One of the lifeboats had come back and as it neared Jim focused on the familiar heartbeat, hearing it just beneath desperate sobs. "It’s okay," someone was saying, "he wouldn’t want you to do that. Just stay right there, don’t move." Jim would have laughed if he’d had the strength. Blair was fighting the people who had rescued him, he wanted to climb out of the boat and sink to the bottom of the sea. Ellison called to his lover, told Blair to stop fighting and just get on with his life, but no one heard the faint rasp his throat produced. Blair alive! It was too much to hope for and Jim felt the burning sensation of a single tears leaking from his eye. It froze on his cheek before it could fall and as he slowly stopped fighting to stay afloat, a prayer left his frozen lips.

"Thank you, God," Ellison whispered, "thank you for letting him live. Please, let him have my life too and let it be happy." He no longer shivered with the cold and the water had warmed considerable to his touch, Jim closed his eyes and smiled. It was a beautiful death after all. With a last good-bye silently aimed at the man he had always loved, Jim stilled his weak struggling and sank beneath the water.

He couldn’t feel anything as death surged up from the ocean floor but Jim had the strangest sensation that his journey had stalled. With the last of his strength he opened his eyes. The face of an angel smiled down on his, dark blue eyes shimmering with tears. "I’ll hold you forever," Blair whispered as Jim was pulled into the boat.

* * *

Epilogue

April 19, 1912 - New York

James Ellison rolled over and opened his eyes. He blinked several times but the vision before him refused to disappear. Forced into a suit and tie at age five and sent to sit in the church beside his father, Jim had daydreamed about angels. He’d known they were beautiful, everyone knew that, but to his childish mind they had appeared with flowing curls and brightest blue eyes rivaled only by the splendor of their halos...but he’d never once pictured an angel with dark circles beneath its eyes or a dark shadow of beard upon its chin. And yet, there before him sat one of Heaven’s most exquisite examples of angelicness, its shimmering robe disguised as a wrinkled white shirt and trousers and its halo a matted mess of brown curls. It was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen. He reached out, hand trembling as he tentatively touched his lover’s shoulder. Blair sat beside his bed, a book open in his lap but his eyes closed to the adventure it offered. Jim let the warmth of his find sink into his bones, chasing away the chill which seemed to have become a permanent part of him. He breathed in the heady scent of Sandburg alive and well and licked his lips before attempting to speak. "B-Blair,’ it came out as a harsh whisper and the memory of screaming Blair’s name over and over until his throat was raw and blood fleck his lips crashed over Jim.

"Jim?" Blair’s book dropped to the floor, he leaned close, hands stretched out but not daring to touch. "Jim, are you really awake now?" Tears fell then, coursing down Sandburg’s cheeks to land hotly against Jim’s arm. "I’ve been so worried, Jim," Blair gasped, he lowered his head, resting it in his hands, sobbing as if his heart were breaking.

"Chief," Jim croaked, "where are we? Why aren’t we dead?"

Blair’s head snapped up, eyes shimmering in the lamp light, "You almost were dead, Jim!" He swore. "when they pulled you from the ocean you were more dead than alive. You’ve been so close to death for the last four days I was afraid to close my eyes." He traced Ellison’s cheek with one finger and managed a wet smile, "we’re in New York, Jim. We made it. You’re in a room at the Ritz and as soon as you’re well we are heading to Cascade."

"Got it all planned, Mr. Sandburg?" Jim asked. The smile he received and the kiss which stole his breath away and robbed his heart of its free will, answered his question. Only one thing remained and it was with trepidation that he asked it. "Blair, what about Carolyn? Did she make it?"

For a moment Blair didn’t answer, he looked into Jim’s eyes with an unreadable expression and Jim found himself wondering if asking about her had been the wrong thing. And then Blair sighed and lowered his gaze, "I’m sorry, Jim," he said, "Carolyn made it to one of the boats but when she saw her jewel case sinking in the water she grabbed for it. She went to the bottom, Jim."

Ellison closed his eyes and sighed. "Well," he reasoned, "at least she got to take it with her." He reached up to capture Blair’s lips in another kiss. It was heaven, pure heaven to lie there in his lover’s arms when he could just have easily lain in the cold ocean’s arms for all eternity. "I love you, Blair," he proclaimed once more. "I love you."

"That’s really good, Mr. Ellison," Blair said with a grin, "’cause I love you too."

* * *

To be continued in Part 2: Dance the Tide

 

Author’s Note: I’ve been fascinated by the Titanic’s tragic story since Robert Ballard discovered the ship’s final resting place. I tried to stay true to the facts but the is so much information to wade through. I never really found out where the infirmary was located and how many decks and which ones were second class. In these instances I made it up, placing things where they worked for the story. To all you Titanic experts, sorry, but I did my best. Though of course this is fiction, the pain and horror of the Titanic is a reality and I do not mean to disrespect any of those brave souls who went down with her. GF


	2. Dance the Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the Titanic Saga.

Dance the Tide

By Gena

April 19, 1912 - New York

Blair Sandburg, telegram clutched securely in hand, smiled to himself as he crossed the Ritz’s opulent lobby scarcely aware of the marble floors, oak paneled walls, or the carpets imported from the Far East. Things were beginning to look up and he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. The scrap of paper he held was the equivalent of a Presidential pardon, it opened the future wide for him. Accused of plagiarism, betrayed by a colleague whom he had trusted, vindication had come from an unexpected quarter. Samuel Kensington had taken the younger professor’s work as his own, deceiving Oxford’s Board of Regents into granting him the prestigious position instead of Sandburg, but Kensington’s wife had come forward with the truth. 

"Mr. Sandburg?" A woman stepped out in front of him, her curly red hair and wide green eyes luminous in the low lighting. "Mr. Sandburg, I’m Cassie Wells with the Times. I understand you and Mr. James Ellison are staying here at the hotel."

"We have nothing to say to the papers," Blair replied stiffly and pushed passed her. Since their docking in New York several days earlier he and every soul who had survived the sinking of the "unsinkable" Titanic had been hounded by the press for an interview. He had never witnessed such interest in any tragic event; the world seemed mesmerized by the scope and magnitude of the great steamship’s sinking. Every aspect had been investigated, long reports printed in every paper across the US and Europe detailing the heroic as well as the cowardice which had taken place as the ship plunged to her death. "Mr. Ellison is still recovering and I have no wish to relive the nightmare. Please, just leave us alone," Blair begged. 

"But Mr. Sandburg," Cassie went on as if he hadn’t said a word, "our readers want to know what it was like to witness the death of Titanic."

Blair paused, turning back to face the young woman, his eyes as cold as the sea which had almost claimed his life, "here’s a quote - It was hell - pure, unimaginable hell. Now, leave me alone." His good mood gone, Blair took the elevator back to the room he and Jim were sharing. He entered silently, hoping his lover had slept most of the afternoon as Ellison was still suffering from the effects of exposure and the fever which had come up on him suddenly, sapping the hard earned strength he’d begun to regain. Sandburg found himself thinking his quote to the reporter han’t been entirely true, the sinking of the great ocean liner had been hell but there had been heaven as well. Jim Ellison had been traveling on the ship, returning from Europe and visits to several renowned doctors for a mysterious affliction which affected the man’s senses while Blair had been returning from his less than stellar stint at Oxford. Their meeting and the instant attraction between the two had seemed like some preordained event that even the sinking of the Titanic couldn’t prevent. 

"Blair?" Ellison’s voice, still raspy from screaming out Blair’s name over and over after the Titanic went down, caught Sandburg by surprise.

"Jim," he rushed to the bed and found Ellison pulling himself into a sitting position, "you should be resting."

"I’ve done that for days," Ellison groused. "If I don’t get out of this bed right now, I may never."

"What’s wrong with that?" Blair asked as he swooped in for a lingering kiss. When he let himself think of what might have been, a shudder passed along Blair’s soul and made him clutch Jim just a bit tighter. "What would I ever do without you?" he whispered. 

"If I have anything to say about it," Jim pulled him up, the vow obvious in his light blue eyes, "you will never find out."

Cassie Wells watched her exclusive walk away. Her editor would not be pleased that she hadn’t gotten an interview with either Sandburg or Ellison. James Ellison was a wealthy man and stories about the wealthy never failed to sell. Interviews with passengers who had witnessed millionaire J.J. Astor’s gentlemanly end were front page news, earning the reporter instant fame and respect. Getting an interview with Ellison would have pushed her a little closer to her own byline instead of the women’s fashions pages she’d been getting. Cassie sighed, her frown causing several nearby people to glance back at her. She’s gone to college to be an investigative reporter not to write about Paris fashions and how they were being bought by wealthy American women with little regard for what looked good on them.

"You there." Cassie glanced up as the gruff voice echoed around the lobby. A tall well dressed man stood glaring at the hotel clerk. "I’m William Ellison. I was informed that my son, James, is staying here."

"Oh yes, Sir," the man replied, "room 725." Ellison nodded sharply towards several men with him and set off towards the bank of elevators at the rear.

"It’s now or never," Cassie mumbled to herself and went after him. "Mr. Ellison! Mr. Ellison, could I have a moment, please?" She saw the older man pause, his eyes an icy blast which chilled her to the bone.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Cassie Wells. I’m with The New York Times," she flashed her hard earned credentials, expertly hiding any reference to fashion. "I just spoke with Mr. Sandburg......"

"And who is Mr. Sandburg?" Ellison snapped. Cassie couldn’t help but notice the hawk like gaze which traveled up her hourglass figure before meeting her eyes. She allowed herself a smile, striving to project a sultry sophistication the society ladies seemed born with.

"Why he’s the man who has been tending to your son," she explained. Cassie found her interest piqued by the sudden look of disgust which settled over Ellison’s features. Maybe she hadn’t lost her chance to prove her investigatory prowess after all. "From what I have discovered, Mr. Sandburg is a anthropology professor recently denied a position at Oxford University because of plagiarism. He arranged for your son to be brought here when the Carpathia docked Wednesday. You weren’t aware of Mr. Sandburg’s.....," she paused for effect, "...relationship with your son?" Cassie projected as much innocence as she could into the question and was rewarded with Ellison’s nervous fidgeting. 

"Miss Wells," Ellison stabbed a finger at her, "you might be a real looker but I have no intention of granting you exclusive rights to my family’s dirty laundry." He stepped into the elevator, giving her one last look he added, "but if you’ll have dinner with me tonight I might make it worth your while." The doors closed leaving Cassie Wells staring at the ornate facade and wondering just what she had gotten herself into this time. 

* * * 

"Beautiful," Jim murmured, kissing along his lover’s jawline. He couldn’t believe that Blair was his, that this man he’d known for only a week had become the center of his life, his world, and that soon they would head west and begin a new life together. "I want this to last forever," he whispered, "forever."

"I plan on it," Blair whispered in return. He let his hands map the strong features, loving the way Jim’s eyes closed, his head falling back to expose the muscled column of his throat. Sandburg’s lips settled, soaking up the warmth, feeling the pulse of his beloved’s heart and thanking every god he’d ever heard of that he was able to do just that. Jim had decided to abandon his life in St. Louis and journey west to Cascade, Washington. In the few days they’d shared on board the steamer, Jim had confessed his desire to strike out on his own, to leave the shadow of his wealthy father and William Ellison’s mercenary business practices. He’d met a man, Simon Banks, the son of a former slave, and together the two men had planned to reap the benefits of Washington’s endless forests. They didn’t know yet if Banks had escaped the Titanic’s end but if he had, it wouldn’t be long before their new life was on course.

"Chief," Jim whispered as Blair’s mouth explored his the hollow of his throat, nibbling the smooth muscles in an almost unbearable caress. "Blair, when are we leaving for Cascade?" He shuddered helplessly as the moist breath of his lover played over his skin. "Sandburg!" Jim couldn’t prevent the strangled shout as Blair nipped a path around one nipple then began to suckle with strong, slow motions.

"Are....you....in...a hurry?" Blair panted. He lifted his head, gazing at the sweat streaked man beneath him. Ellison bore the stamp of good loving; his chest and neck were marked with red, lip-sized welts, his short hair stood on end, his skin glistened in the lamp light and his eyes were smoky with desire. He looked not so much like a man in a hurry but a man who never wanted to move from the spot where he now lay.

"Everything here," Ellison closed his eyes and Blair drew him closer, "reminds me of what’s happened...of all those people." A shudder raced through Jim, "I can still hear their screams. When I close my eyes I see the faces of people who have just realized their loved ones are going to die. I see the faces of the dead floating in the water and all I want to do - is live." He looked at Blair then, eyes shining with determination, "I want to live, Blair. I don’t know how much time I have....how much time any of us have. I want every minute to count."

Blair nodded, knowing exactly what Jim was feeling. When he’d first surfaced in the icy black waters of the North Atlantic, he’d screamed Jim’s name. The thought that Ellison had been lost to him had beat him down, pulling him back towards the bottom of the murky ocean. Hands had plucked him from the frigid water but not halted his desperate desire for death and it hadn’t been until Jim was found, his half frozen body dumped into Blair’s arms, that an unwavering determination to live had entered his soul. Their time together had been like some flamboyant novel filled with unquenchable desire and a love too deep to be broken by death. Blair was too smart to think he and Jim would have had what they did if it hadn’t been for sheer coincidence of traveling on the same ill-fated ocean liner. But somehow they had found each other and never again would he take life or love for granted - together they would build a place and the world be damned.

"Every minute will count," Blair vowed. He sealed his pledge with a kiss, gently coaxing the mouth beneath his open so that he could plunder the sweetness within. He could feel his passion growing, the aching need in his groin and began to rub himself against Ellison’s body with vigor. Jim tightened his grip, pulling him nearer but his body hadn’t responded to the desire rippling along Sandburg like wildfire. "Jim?" Blair questioned. 

"Sssh," Jim stroked one hand down his lover’s face, "go ahead. It’s okay." He raised his head for another kiss before sliding his hands down to rest against the swell of Sandburg’s ass, pressing their lower bodies together. He spread his thighs, cradling the younger man between them as he gently rocked their tight pressed bodies. "Love you, baby. Love you with all my soul."

Jim let his mind fly, remembering the emptiness which had long been a part of him before this creature in his arms had entered his life. Even before his senses had gone wild, he’d felt different from others - incomplete somehow. Carolyn and the sham of their marriage hadn’t driven away the desolation, neither had the brief liaisons he’d shared with like minded men. It had stayed lodged in his heart, spawning a growing frustration until the entrance of Blair Sandburg into his life had cut it away like a surgeon removing a growth. Nothing had ever affected him so profoundly as the man he now embraced and there was nothing which could ever make him let go.

"James!" The voice which thundered his name and the pounding upon the hotel door brought Sandburg out of his arms with a startled shout.

"What the hell.......?"

"It’s my father," Jim groaned. He covered his face with both hands, summoning the strength to confront the man and his demands. "Blair, he’s going to want me to return to St. Louis with him." He dropped his hands, pain showing clearly in his eyes, "I don’t know how he’ll try it, but my father will endeavor to undermine this," he lifted a hand to trace a finger over Blair’s swollen lips and smiled sadly. "Don’t let him," Jim begged, "fight with me for this.".

"I won’t let anyone stop us," Sandburg vowed. He rose, squared his shoulders and with a last glance at Ellison went to open the door. "Mr. Ellison," he greeted. William Ellison shoved passed him with barely a glance, his gaze intent upon the figure lying prone on the wide bed. "Come on in," Blair muttered and was surprised when several men did just that. "Now wait a minute! What’s going on here?" No one answered his question, Ellison, Sr. stood beside the bed, staring down at a weary Jim while the others arranged themselves near the foot of the bed.

"James, I see you’ve not yet recovered from your ordeal," William concluded. Blair couldn’t miss the withering glance aimed at him as he moved to Jim’s side and claimed a chair beside the bed. "This must be your new....companion," he said the word as if it were a curse, "you’ll be amply rewarded for your help in my son’s rescue."

"I don’t want your money," Blair informed him.

"You’d be the first," Ellison laughed. He signaled one of the men forward and proceeded to write out a bank draft. "Here." He held the paper before Sandburg’s face, waiting. Blair almost laughed at the expectant expression. He couldn’t resist casting a glance over at Jim, wanting to share the incredulity of the gesture, but when he met Jim’s eyes he saw fear - stark, cold fear. It hit him hard, piercing the core of his heart and making him love Jim even more. If he’d ever had any doubt about the depth of Jim’s love for him the undisguised terror in his blue eyes dispelled it. 

"I’m sorry, Mr. Ellison," Blair allowed a bit of his distaste for the man to color his tone, "but I really can’t take your money. Saving James’ life was an honor, not a job." 

"You won’t get more," William warned. "I know about Jim’s...unnatural habits and any attempt on your part to expose them will result in a nasty fate." His eyes seemed to burn with a cold fire, stoked by a cruel heart. "I’ve worked too hard to make the Ellison name stand for something to have his....peculiarities paraded before society!" 

"If you ever touch him," came Jim’s steely voice, "I will kill you." The sheer strength in the words, the vow everyone in the room heard, sent a shiver down Blair’s spine. When he looked over at his lover, the gentle, loving man he knew had been replaced by an icy stranger. The lips which sought to stoke pleasure in Blair’s heart were twisted into a sneer, the eyes which shown with love were veiled with hate and the strong hands which so often caressed Blair’s flesh in tenderness were claws shredding the fine linen. Scared by the sight, Sandburg sucked in a breath and watched his lover.

"That’s very touching, James," William said, "but not very likely." He signaled the men ranged around the bed. Two burly types lunged for Jim, pinning him to the bed as a third stepped forward brandishing a black medical bag. Blair, an inarticulate protest ripped from his throat, made to come to his lover’s aid but William Ellison shoved him back. Blair’s small stature proved no match for the older man’s work hardened frame, he couldn’t do anything other than hurl abuse.

"You lousy thug, leave him alone! I’ll kill you if you hurt him!" Blair swore. Over William’s shoulder he watched helplessly as the doctor advanced on Jim, a hypodermic held in his hand. "No!" Blair’s shout echoed Jim’s but did no good. Whatever he’d been given began to work almost immediately. Jim’s eyes rolled back, head lulling as he collapsed back onto the bed and lay still.

"Take him," William ordered and Jim was lifted between the two thugs and dragged from the room.

"You bastard," Blair snarled. He was ready for the backhanded slap and only sneered at the older man. "You won’t get away with this," he promised.

"I already have." William’s icy eyes glittered, "you’ll find, Sandburg, that no one touches my property. I won’t have Jim’s...illness bringing disgrace to my family so I’ll make sure no one knows about him...or you."

"Just let him go," Blair asked, "we’ll go west. You won’t hear from us again, I swear."

"Oh, I know that," Ellison assured him. "No one will hear from you for some time, Mr. Sandburg," William snarled. This time the hand which connected with his face was curled into a fist. Ellison’s triumphant sneer burned itself across Blair’s mind and the realization that William really wanted to kill him spurred Sandburg to action. His grasping hand raked desperately over the nearby table, scrabbling for anything he could use. Newspapers, books, the notebook he’d purchased that morning, all fell beneath his frantic scratching. For what seemed an eternity Blair fought to save himself and at the last possible moment, when consciousness threatened to slip away his fingers closed on the cylindrical shape of his ink pen. Blair snatched it up, ramming it into Ellison’s hand where it had latched onto his throat. William roared in pain, his grip loosening, thick warm blood flowing freely from a gash in his skin. Blair, struggling against the blackness which threatened to close over him, raised his eyes to the older man’s. He just barely had time to wonder where they had taken Jim before a fist slammed into his head the darkness closed in on him and he was gone.

When he awoke the room was empty. He glanced over at the bed, the disarrayed state telling him this hadn’t been some horrible nightmare after all. Jim was gone, taken who-knew-where by his brutal father and Blair had no idea how to find his lover. He slowly climbed to his feet, swaying as the room spun wildly before righting itself. Sandburg staggered to the washstand, splashing his face with cold water until he thought he could walk without staggering. He had a bruise on his cheek and his upper lip was beginning to swell, but his long hair hid the worst of the damage. William Ellison was a powerful man, and not just with his fists, he owned two thirds of St. Louis and had contacts all over the world. He could, even now, be conspiring to spirit Jim away to some desolate location where it would take months to find him.

"Jim," Blair whispered to the empty room, "hang on, my love. I’ll find you, I swear." He gathered his coat and left the room, the forgotten telegram crumpled underfoot. Sandburg made it as far as the elevator before William Ellison’s justice hit him.

"Hold it," a rough voice called from the parting doors. Three uniformed police officers surrounded him. Blair’s arms were pinned behind him, brutal hands searched through his pockets.

"W-what is this?" Blair asked. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because we don’t want your kind running loose in New York," the cop in charge informed him.

"My kind? What have I done?"

Pulled from his own pockets and held before his eyes, Blair could only stare at the watch, ring, and money clip stuffed with bills. The fancy initials, cut deep into the gold of the clip, accused him with a malicious gleam - WJE. "We put thieves in jail for a long time," the cop assured him. Blair could only stare in mute shock at the objects which sealed his fate. 

* * *

William Ellison let his smug grin blossom into a full blown leer. His steely eyes raked the female form swaying ever nearer. His gaze lingered on the cinched waist, the way her frock emphasized the swell of her breasts then tapered to offer a tantalizing glimpse of ankle just below her skirt line. He relished the throb which launched itself throughout his body, the warmth which washed over him. He’d tried to share this with James, this wondrous urge which made men men. He’d driven the boy, wiping away the dreamer his wife Grace had given birth to, steadily replacing the softness with hard muscle and steel will. Jim often lapsed in his quest, William had been forced, on many occasions, to discipline his wayward son. In time the boy had learned not to show his emotions, not to give into his flights of fancy - he’d broken Jim’s habit of pretending he could see birds in flight on the other side of the river after a particularly brutal "lesson". 

At 16 he’d taken his son to Madame Bishop’s and instructed the woman to introduce Jim to the pleasures she could provide. Only later, when he, himself, had been with one of the harlots had William discovered his son’s duplicity. Jim had dutifully spent the night at the brothel and entertained the chosen whore for the entire evening but that had been as far as it went, he had not performed any sexual act with the girl only a few years older than himself. Instead, William learned that his son and the girl had spent their time talking. For hours they had discussed the changing world and its problems and merely held each other in companionship, their kisses chaste and innocent. William had been furious. This was another thing he’d beat out of his son, even if it killed Jim. Death would be better for the boy than to disgrace his family with his unnatural urges.

Determined that his son would do his will, the older Ellison had then had the same whore brought to Chouteau House. He’s stood near the bed as Jim was brought into the room, and he’d warned his son what would happen if he didn’t take the girl this time. At first William had seen defiance in his eldest son’s eyes even when the leather belt had been applied to his broad back, but as soon as William turned his fury on the helpless girl Jim had broken, saying he would do as told if his father would just stop hitting the girl. The elder Ellison’s excitement at watching to make sure the deed was done turned to a white-hot passion. Sometimes, late at night, William would trot out the memory of that night - the sight of his son and the girl, the smell of her arousal, the pleas James had uttered, his cries of pain as the strap struck his back again and again until he took her. William had barely waited long enough for Jim to roll free before dropping on the girl himself. She had cried, her small fists beating his back as he roughly took her, but he hadn’t even paused. William had let the animal in him escape that night and the memory of the beast stayed with him set free on occasions like this, when he was far enough away from St. Louis to keep the Ellison name from being splattered with mud even his great wealth couldn’t wash off. 

Cassie Wells smiled at him from beneath the brim of her wide hat and William secretly chuckled to himself - she had no idea what lay in store for her. She wanted a story and for a price he would provide one.

* * *

April ??, 1912 - Location Unknown

How long he lay under the sedative’s spell, Jim couldn’t begin to imagine. Time passed in a haze, the world moving slowly, voice muffled and distant, sensations only half felt. After the heightened state of his senses, this limbo world of cotton filled feelings ate at the very core of him making him wonder if he truly lived or had died some time without realizing it. There were times he thought people were speaking to him - ghosts? he couldn’t tell, others he was sure he was being lifted and moved about at these unseen individual’s will. At the back of it, the solitary thought that he had been parted from Blair, sent a silent scream echoing through what remained of his soul. At length the jostling stopped, replaced by the rhythmic rocking even his sluggish mind recognized as that of a train.

Hands tended him; feeding, bathing, soothing him. Jim could protest nothing done to him, demand no restoration of his dignity as absorbent pads of cloth were secured between his legs to catch the waste his body expelled neither could he rid himself of the nourishment compelled into his body by a tube. His mind drifted at will, the train’s rocking transforming to the gently cadence of his lover’s body against him to give him a slight measure of peace. Sometimes, the fog would roil in his brain and the faceless voice became Blair calling to him. His senses flared; sounds would pierce his ears, the brush of fingers send him into spasms of pain, the smell of his own waste make him retch for an hour. Jim would begin to thrash wildly, unable to understand what was happening, crying out for the soothing voice which could guide him and then the disembodied voices would grow excited, hands would hold him down until icy sheets could be wound around his body and bitter liquids forced down his throat. The strange limbo would descend then, not the frightening nothingness where only Blair could reach him, but a leaden state where nightmares tormented him with they knowledge they weren’t real and yet he was trapped with them.

At length his struggles grew less and less, exhaustion sapping his reserves, sedatives numbing his mind until only a spark remained burning deep inside. Jim could only lie helplessly as these strangers attended the shell he had become. His heart, the secret part they could not reach with their medicines, retreated, searching for the comfort of the guide who had rescued him once before. And there in the stillness of his mind, Jim found Blair waiting. With a joyful sigh, Ellison slipped deeper and lay back in Blair’s arms, clothed in the peaceful stillness.

And then it lifted. Jim opened his eyes to the familiar sight of his old room and it left him lightheaded with fear. He glanced upwards, finding the crack which raced from corner to corner in the room. Once it had been the Nile, sailed by a lonely boy’s imagination, now it was a prison bar condemning him to his father’s will. Chouteau House, the mansion his father owned in St. Louis, had been purchased when Henry Chouteau lost his fortune and it lay hundreds of miles from Blair. Jim let a moan escape his lips, eyes closing in despair at the thought of his lover so far away. He had no doubt Blair would fight to return to his side, but the certainty of his father’s ruthless nature made the threat to Sandburg’s welfare very grave.

"Mr. Ellison?" Jim rolled his head to the side, momentarily overcome by dizziness as he did, only to find a smartly dressed nurse standing beside his bed. She smiled down on him, but her eyes were hard and the smile did nothing to melt her coldness. She pulled thin hands from the deep pockets of her apron and settled the creases of her black dress back into perfection. Pillows had been placed beneath Ellison’s shoulders and back, even under his elbows and hands, so that Jim lay propped at an angle. 

"W-where’s Blair?" he rasped. Ellison swallowed the cough which threatened to erupt and closed his eyes. The woman gave no indication he’d asked a question.

"Doctor Cameron was worried when you didn’t regain consciousness yesterday," she rearranged the pillows then folded the blankets back. "He’ll be in to see you later this evening. Until then," she again smiled her cold smile, "I’ll make you comfortable." Jim fought the listlessness which pressed him down, barely able to lift his head from the pillows. He tried to follow her quick movements, surprised to find her stripping away a sodden garment which had been placed over his groin and pinned on the sides like an infant’s. The nurse washed his skin with great attention - her lingering hands at odds with the remote eyes, before replacing the garment with a fresh one. She pulled the nightshirt down over Jim’s hips and thighs and the blanket up to his waist. "Now, let’s get some liquid into you." Jim endured the thick, bitter mixture she held to his lips, swallowing only because his throat ached from need. He could feel the darkness creeping back, pulling his leaden mind down until nothing remained but the blackness.

* * *

April 25, 1912 - New York

"Now, Mr.......uh, Banks," the cop managed to convey his distaste in only a few words. Simon Banks, smiled to himself, eager to knock this flatfoot down a peg or two.

"Listen, officer," he growled, pointing a smoldering cigar at the hapless man, "Chief of Police Kingston is an old friend of mine. Now, you will please inform him I am here and wish to speak with him." Simon gave the man one last contemptuous glare before seating himself comfortably. He saw the sweaty red features blanche and had to hide his smile. His father, Horace, had been a slave during the last days of the South’s struggle and when freedom had finally come he had taught his son never to let another person have power over him. Simon had lived his life assured of his own rights to happiness. He’d struck out on his own, heading to the rough towns of the Pacific Northwest and buying land with the money he earned working in a bar. It had taken him ten years to acquire enough land to make his logging company a viable business but once he’d started hauling logs down to the burgeoning towns his wealth had grown.

He demanded respect from his employees and gave it in return and the thought that someone might look down upon him because of skin color was the most revolting idea he’d come across. His trip to Europe had brought him in contact with a variety of people, many ideas had been exchanged and business opportunities advanced. One of the most promising had been with James Ellison, the owner of a saw mill in St. Louis. Ellison had jumped at the chance to merge his operation with Banks’ and the two had sealed the deal with a handshake. Unfortunately at the time they had been traveling back from Europe on the ill-fated ship, Titanic. Simon had lost track of his new partner during the horror of the sinking but had learned Jim had survived. He’d tracked Ellison to the Ritz hotel but the man had disappeared and now, a new development had arisen. Chief Kingston, an old friend from back home would be the fastest way to find out just what the hell was going on with Ellison.

"Simon!" A burly man in a tweed suit, ambled out to embrace Banks. "It’s been years! What brings you to New York? Business?"

"This, Walt," Simon explained holding out a copy of the New York Times from two days earlier. Bold headlines announced that a thief had been preying on the Titanic tragedy, stealing from the survivors as they tried to put their lives back together. Simon had been appalled by the thought until he’d read the article and discovered that the thief was one Blair Sandburg and he’d been arrested red-handed in James Ellison’s room with personal possessions belonging to his father, William Ellison. Simon had never met Sandburg but he knew who the young man was, Jim Ellison had practically glowed when he’d spoken about the brilliant professor who’d partnered up with him. Simon had suspected Ellison’s fondness for the kid had more to do with his personal feelings than for the man’s knowledge of the logging business. "This—Cassie Wells is reporting Blair Sandburg as being a thief. It says he’s suspected in several other burglaries. It’s not true, Walt. This kid is Jim Ellison’s closest friend." Kingston’ shocked expression made him hurry on. "I was on that ship, Walt. I know the man and I know he couldn’t have done this."

"I’m sorry, Simon but we got a complaint from a very influential man - William Ellison. You know him, too?" Kingston asked. 

"No, not personally," Simon didn’t mention the rampant rumors which swept the logging business about William Ellison and his cut-throat practices.

"Well," the Chief hedged, "we arrested Sandburg last week for stealing from William Ellison." He motioned to the duty officer and directed him to bring a file. "Ellison had a burr up his butt, wanted the book thrown at this kid. You know, if I had to put money on it, I’d say Ellison set the guy up."

"Why’s that?" Simon asked.

"Call it a cop’s intuition," Kingston said with a shrug. He took the file from his officer and flipped through it. "This Sandburg....he’d been beaten up pretty good and the ring, watch and money were just stuffed in his pockets. We got a call telling us that this kid was stealing from the rooms. Sandburg didn’t try to run when my men got there..."

"Can I talk to him?" Ellison’s fondness for Sandburg had reminded Simon of his own for his younger brother and it had kindled a common bond between them. In his heart, Simon knew that anything this kid had been found with had either been given to him by Jim or someone had set it up to make Sandburg look bad. 

Kingston arranged for Banks to speak with Blair and Simon followed a uniformed officer down a dank hallway to the cells beneath the building. It was dim and smelled and men yelled lewd suggestions as he was lead to the far cell. Inside, seated cross legged on the hard bunk, a young man stared at the floor. His long hair fell over his shoulders and when the guard banged on the bars, his head shot up. Fear danced in his blue eyes but Simon also saw a glint of determination and anger.

"Company, sonny," the guard told him then stepped back to let Simon closer.

"Mr. Sandburg?" Simon asked "I’m Simon Banks...."

"Banks?" Frowning, Sandburg tried to place where he’d heard the name before. Suddenly he snapped his fingers, "Banks!" Blair grinned, one hand brushing at his hair as he rose to his feet and quickly moved to the bars. "Yeah, Jim told me you were going to be partners. When we get to Cascade I’ve got some plans for this saw mill he’s going...." The enthusiastic voice trailed off as reality overwhelmed him.

"Look...Blair," Simon said. "I’m going to help you."

"No one can," came Blair’s dejected reply. For several moments he stared at the metal bars he gripped, seeming to see no way to cross them. "Do you know where they’ve taken Jim?" A flash of pain creased the animated features, "his father grabbed him from the hotel. I tried to stop them but....they gave him something to knock him out then William roughed me up a bit." Simon didn’t dispute that claim though the bruises on Sandburg’s throat and the cuts on his forehead and cheek look like more than a little roughing up.

"We’ll find out, Sandburg," Simon promised. "Leave it to me." It took most of the day to spring Blair from the jail. Ellison’s leaving had delayed due process, trapping Blair in a limbo where he couldn’t be released but no charges could be filed. Simon cut through the red tape and by the end of the day the young professor found himself curled up on the couch in Simon’s hotel room. Banks fell asleep with the certainty that he had just changed the course of his life.

* * *

Megan Connor blew out a weary sigh and shifted her bundle from one arm to the other. It had been a long trip just from the train station to the house and when you added on the journey from Sydney, Australia to America it was just about unbearable. But she was here, she had made it on her own and was about to begin a new life. She looked at the crumpled package in her arms; everything she owned was right there. Oh well, she had a job and a chance to make something of herself which was more than she’d been offered in Sydney. Megan raised a fist and knocked on the door. It was opened by a small red-headed woman.

"I’m Megan Connor - the new maid," she explained. The woman smiled kindly and ushered her inside the kitchen. Megan sighed and followed. Her uncle had arranged for this position with the Ellison family and for that she was grateful. Before their letter had arrived Megan’d had no idea where St. Louis, Missouri was much less how she’d get there. Now, she was being shown to a tiny room under the eaves and given a decent meal before being allowed to sleep without the constant rocking motion of the ship or the train. It was pure heaven. Megan crawled under the covers and closed her eyes, saying a prayer that she’d find the life she’d always hoped for here in Chouteau House.

Sleep harbored strang dreams filled with disturbing images of seeing herself running through the night, chased by an animal who’s golden eyes she couldn’t escape. When morning came, the thin sunlight scratching runny lines over the floorboards, Megan was glad to arise. She threw on her clothes and hurried to the kitchen to learn her duties in the mansion from Mrs. Ashley the Ellison’s long time housekeeper. Cleaning and straightening were things she’d learned while running her father’s house, but to do it to another’s standards without showing her annoyance was another. It wasn’t until her fourth day that Megan decided her coming to Chouteau House had been destiny. She’d finished her duties downstairs and just started upstairs when a sound drew her towards the last room one the long side corridor. She could feel herself trembling inside but squared her shoulders and stepped forward.

Mary, a nice Catholic girl from County Kerry, had informed her in a whispered exchange over dinner about James Ellison. "Oh, it’s terrible Meg," she’d confided, "Master James is ever so popular with the staff and when they brought him back...," her words trailed off and her face held pity. "We weren’t to speak of his illness but that’s why he and his wife went to Europe, doctors and all that." Megan sat spellbound as Mary told of the rumors which had swept the Ellison household, how James’s illness hadn’t been curable and his return on the ill-fated Titanic had resulted in his current condition. "We’re not to go near his room, but I saw him when they brought him home," color leached from the animated face, leaving Mary pale, "he didn’t move a muscle when they carried him in. I was so frightened, he looked dead." She crossed herself, "and his wife....well, she wasn’t as kind as Master James." Megan had replayed everything she’d been told as she stepped closer to the dreaded door.

"Master James isn’t to be disturbed," Mrs. Ashley instructed, "but you will clean his room twice a week." Megan had paused in the corridor, intimidated by the thought of being around someone so ill. In her mind, she conjured hideous images of a twisted figure tied to the bedposts, writhing in agony. She squared her shoulders and timidly stepped towards the door. She reached out, hand trembling, and turned the knob. It exploded inward and every childhood nightmare rushed back with a vengeance. She uttered a little cry, dust cloth fluttering to the ground like a flag of surrender.

"Here, child," a shrill voice admonished, "keep your voice down!" Nurse Wellington stood before Megan, blue eyes icy chips staring out of her pale face and pinning Megan to the spot. "It’s about time you got up here," she said. "I’ll be back in one hour," and with that she turned on her heel and left. Megan waited until the soft thump of her shoes had died away before entering the room.

The room was dark, drapes pulled against the midwestern sun. Megan could smell the faint odor of sickness, the musty scent of someone confined to bed for a lengthy period. She edged further into the room, gaze intent only on the furnishing she’d been ordered to dust, the floor she was to sweep. After a while, her skin coated with a light sweat from her work, she eased closer to the bed to dust the table there. A glass, milky residue curdling in the bottom, sat among a collection of brown medicine bottles. Megan gingerly shifted the items, marveling at the sheer amount of drugs being given to Master James. It wasn’t until a soft sound emanated from the bed that she hazarded a look at it’s occupant.

From somewhere amid the mound of blankets she again heard what sounded like a groan. Eyes adjusted to the dim light she could make out the shape of a broad back, nightshirt stretched tight over the wide shoulders. In the middle of the mattress, trapped in the clutches of a nightmare, the man rolled restlessly. Megan hesitantly reached out, one hand coming to rest on his arm. As if drawn by human touch, Master James rolled over onto his back.

She half expected some monstrous figure, wasted by this mysterious disease he’d contracted, but the man she regarded was far from unsightly. James Ellison had the strong carved features she’d once seen on statues in the Melbourne museum and even strained with sickness he kindled desire. His short hair looked brown and soft in the low light and the muscles of his chest, glimpsed through the gaping front of the nightshirt, glistened invitingly. 

"B-Blair?"

The name sounded well worn, as if he’d said it over and over without an answer for so long that he could only draw comfort from hearing the echo. Megan found herself strangely moved by the longing she could hear. Once she had witnessed a man so distraught by the loss of his wife that he had ended his life right before her eyes. The sight of his bloated body, retrieved days later from the water, had been the fodder for many nightmares as a child, but it had been his voice which had haunted her most vividly. He had smiled at her childish self and told her to love with all her heart because sometimes you only got one chance. She hadn’t really understood his words but she’d promised just the same. The man had smiled again and patted her dark head and then stepped off into the harbor’s deep waters and disappeared. His voice had held the same desperate quality this man’s did, the same longing barely contained by human abilities to express it. Megan let her hand stray to his brow and was rewarded with a sigh. "Blair," Ellison breathed out again. "I knew you’d find me." Pale eyes, down turned at the edges and giving him a look of profound sadness, opened, blinking in confusion. "Where’s Blair?" Master James asked quietly.

"There’s no Blair here, Mr. Ellison," Megan explained gently, "I’m the maid. I’m Megan." She watched the eyes fall shut again, the hand which had wrapped around hers drop back to the bed, defeated. "Where do I look for Blair?" Megan had no idea why the words had sprung from her lips, maybe the complete hopelessness she had glimpsed in his eyes, or maybe to atone for some long ago mistake. She took a deep breath not really sure what she was getting into, more than likely it would be the end of her job, but something drew her to this man, something she couldn’t ignore. "Tell me where to find Blair?" she asked softly and watched hope flare in his opening eyes only to die again.

Jim could only shake his head, "I don’t know." His eyes slid closed once again, leaving Megan to wonder where she could start. 

* * *

Blair Sandburg stared out at the passing countryside, telling himself that each acre which passed brought him closer to Jim. He’d never felt so alone in all his life, even when he’d had no one. It had been the brief, intense pairing with the older man which had made him know at last what it was like to belong with someone. Before Jim had come along, he’d read books, popular novels, where the hero and heroine were soul mates, their love too strong to be denied. Blair had laughed, the very notion that you could feel so deeply for another person that you would willing throw away your friends, your career, your very life, had to be only the imaginings of demented writers. And then he had met James J. Ellison.

They had been traveling on the ship, Titanic, both facing a future so bleak and hopeless death held a greater appeal. Alone and betrayed, Blair’d had no idea what lay in store for him, certainly not to meet a man who’s senses were so heightened he could no longer stand the sensations which ripped through him. Never in Blair’s life had he imagined meeting the physical embodiment of a rare breed of man. Jim, with his heightened senses and his despairing heart had been his soul mate, the reason for his existence. Neither had expected what blossomed between them but when it had they’d both known the rightness of it, they had been destined for each other. Instinctively drawn together, Blair had discovered that his lover’s illness was in large part repressed abilities described by an explorer named Richard Burton. James Ellison was a Sentinel, a man who’s senses were so highly developed that he could see insects in the grass a hundred yards away, could hear people talking from the next house. Burton’s theories had made their way to Sandburg via a monograph given to him by a friend. Blair suspected part of his and Ellison’s mutual attraction had been his own abilities to help Jim focus, to pull him out of these temporary lapses he suffered from but not all of it, he loved Jim, had from the very first moment they met. Together they had worked on Jim’s abilities, helping him to manage them without being overwhelmed by them. And each moment that they spent together they had become more and more certain that they must never part. Jim claimed that their hearts beat in the same rhythm, as if they were really one soul but they had been trapped in two bodies and Blair believed it - he knew Jim was what had always been missing from his life and he would do anything to restore the warmth and completeness that being with Ellison brought.

He watched a farm shutter by and smiled. Soon he and Jim would be leading a normal life, if two men loving each other and wanting to be together could be called normal by society. He knew they would face people like William Ellison again, people who would like nothing better than to keep them apart, but they’d fail just as William would. Blair shifted his gaze to the reflection in the glass. Simon Banks sat smoking an expensive cigar, his dark eyes scanning the newspaper picked up from a small station in Ohio. Banks must have sensed his stare for he turned, meeting Blair’s reflected gaze and grinned with confidence.

"It’ll work out, Blair," he promised and Sandburg felt a bubble of hope spring up in his soul. This man made him believe he could do it, believe that soon he’d be with his sentinel again and that the life they were destined to lead would really come to pass.

"Thanks, Simon," Blair said with warmth. He looked up as the porter announced their impending arrival in St. Louis. Somehow it would work out all right, it had to.

* * *

Jim awoke to find a strange man standing over him. Gaslight caught the silver streaks in his dark hair and made his brown eyes glimmer with an unholy light. "James," the man intoned, "I’m Marcus Cameron." He gestured to the ever present nurse and she handed him what looked like a leather strap lined with sheep’s wool. He began attaching the strap to a complicated system of pulleys and ropes Jim fuzzily noted had been strung above his bed, speaking in a soft, soothing manner all the while, "William informs me that this illness of yours has caused you to be gripped by unnatural tendencies." Satisfied with his work, Cameron nodded to the silent nurse and Jim found a padded cuff buckled around his left ankle. "I’m here to help you with that, James," Cameron promised. 

"Wait...I don’t...," Ellison began but the doctor halted him.

"It’s all right, Jim, I understand." The second cuff was buckled in place and before he knew it Jim found his legs hoisted upwards until his hips were several inches off the bed. Nurse Wellington stripped him, her hands icy in the warm room. He could actually feel the delay between what was happening and his brain reacting. The sluggish residue which had taken up residence inside his head, forced into him at every turn, made him slow to protest. He tried to sit up, pushing against the soft mattress with trembling arms.

"No," he said, brow wrinkled with confusion. "No, don’t...," but Nurse Wellington managed to hold him down. Cameron disappeared from Jim’s line of sight, moving towards the foot of the bed. Jim knew what was coming but the slick finger which invaded his rectum made his breath explode in a gasp. More in shock than pain, he writhed upon the mattress too weak to escape. He had no idea how long it went on, hot fingers were replaced by instruments - long silver tools with cool surfaces which seemed to freeze his very heart. Jim tried not to struggle, tried to distance himself from what was happening and succeeded only when he focused his hearing on the sounds outside the big mansion on Maple Street. The distant huff of a Tin Lizzie let him endure the examination, lost to the intimate attentions. Cameron couldn’t touch the deepest recesses inside him, the things being done to his body could not touch his heart or his mind, both of which rested safely in Blair’s embrace.

"....double the dosage," Cameron’s soft murmur roused Jim from the comforting nothingness. "I’m afraid I’ll have to examine him again and he was a bit too lucid..."

"No," Ellison protested. "If you touch me again....." Jim raised his head, eyes finding the doctor across the room. His head pounded, Cameron’s voice booming against his ears though the doctor spoke softly. Jim focused on the man, his eyesight fading in and out, and knew he had lost the fragile control Blair had given him. Without Sandburg to guide him, he was at the mercy of senses he couldn’t command.

Cameron frowned, eyes speculating how it was possible for his patient to hear him across the room when he had whispered. "Jim," he said moving closer, "this is for your own good. A man should not have these urges. It’s wrong, but I can help you." His eyes never left Jim, his voice never rose above a breathy whisper and when Jim swept a hand out, smashing bottles to the floor, Cameron smiled. "Most interesting.....," the doctor nodded once then turned and left.

Twice more Jim bore the man’s attentions, drifting away as the cuffs were strapped around his ankles. Later, Ellison would come back to himself only to find Nurse Wellington deftly adjusting his undergarments her frozen gaze at odds with her flushed cheeks. The faint memory of meeting Cameron’s feverish eyes, of seeing the pleasure which still clung to the doctor after one of his "examinations", made Jim sick inside. An impatient hand settled over his lax groin, gauging Jim’s responses and Ellison closed his eyes again. Jim let his mind float on the senses he could no longer control, it was not him suffering the violation, but some carcass being pried apart and peered into. Afterwards Cameron would smile, gently lowering Jim’s legs to the bed, his sweaty hands massaging the bruised ankles as he exclaimed, "you’re getting better, Jim. Much better," he assured his patient. 

* * *

"....better be good.....I told you my business....what?"

Jim fought the sway of his hearing, forcing it back to his father’s voice. Without Blair he found each attempt to home in on a distant sound dangerously unpredictable. There had been times, lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling he’d heard the household staff talking amongst themselves and he’d try to follow their words only to come back to reality hours later. Sandburg had somehow enabled him to pick out a individual speakers and listen to each and every word, but now he could only wrestle for a measure of control. Finally, he called the beloved face to his mind’s eye, picturing the serious eyes and ripe lips forming words of encouragement.

"I’m sorry, William," a woman’s voice responded, "it’s not my fault the charges didn’t stick. I kept my end of the bargain."

"For a price, I might add," William taunted.

"This Banks," the woman continued, "he got Sandburg released three days ago."

"Goddamnit!" William swore. Jim winced as the sound of drawers slamming open and shut assailed him, "what’s wrong with those idiots in New York? He’s on his way here and now he’s had three days head start!"

"You don’t know he’s coming here," the woman contended, "he could be running as far away as possible."

"Sandburg will stop at nothing to ruin me - to ruin Jim."

"But he seemed so....protective of your son when I spoke with him in New York."

"He would. My son is ill and has been for a long time," William insisted. Jim felt his fingers curling into fists, the blood began to throb in his temples, "this Sandburg has grand plans and intends for my son to finance them."

Sighing, the woman seemed to tire of the conversation’s direction, instead her voice changed, becoming wheedling, "I’ve done my part, William. What about your promise? When will you get me a real job with The Dispatch?"

"Soon, Cassie," William promised, "be patient."

There was silence for a moment then the sound of the telephone’s crank before William spoke again, "Sam? It’s Ellison. I’ve got a little job for you."

"I found him! I found Blair!"

The words were whispered into his ear but louder than a gunshot to Ellison. Jim moaned in pain, arms coming up to cover his ears. It took him a moment to regain his composure and when he did he opened his eyes to find Megan’s horrified face leaning over him. She had become a familiar sight in the past week, sneaking into his room during the night, helping dispose of the bitter medicine Nurse Wellington kept in the bedside table and administered with alarming frequency, replacing it with a concoction of her own. With Megan’s help the fog had begun to lift, Jim could put his thoughts together, he could shrug off the heaviness and plot an escape. She was an unlikely ally, an Australian maid in the employment of his father, but she had proved a valuable comrade. She fetched food mercifully untainted by the drugs Cameron insisted would "cure" Jim’s illness, she provided a strong shoulder as Jim forced himself to his feet and struggled to regain his strength, she sent out feelers in the vast network of servants throughout the city....and she found Blair.

"W-here?" Ellison demanded, hoarsely. "Where’s Blair?" William must have schemed to have Blair permanently out of the picture there in New York, but the young man was resourceful. Jim had counted on that, holding his lover’s intelligence and determination in his mind even when he could no longer remember his own name. 

"He’s at the Hotel St. Nicholas," Megan said. "I heard from Molly who works for the Shaw family. Her aunt cleans rooms there and she just got word to Molly," Jim nodded, impatient for her to continue, "a man answering Blair’s description arrived late last night!".

"Blair’s here," Jim whispered to himself. "He made it here." Rising stiffly, one hand on Megan’s shoulder, Jim steadied himself as the room swayed. He shut out the pain, telling himself the soreness which raced up his spine resulted from being in bed for so long. The face of Marcus Cameron swam into his mind, his fervid gaze pinning Jim to the bed, but he ruthlessly smashed it back. There was no time for this, for what had been done - he had to get to Blair. Blair would make everything okay again. "My clothes, Meg," he insisted. Megan grinned and hurried to the wardrobe, she tossed out trousers, shirt, vest and jacket before darting to the dresser for underwear - drawers, merino shirt, and socks. She hid her smile when Jim pointedly stared at her, turning with an exaggerated sigh.

"I’ve got brothers, you know," she said.

"But I don’t have a sister," Jim pointed out. She giggled softly before sobering.

"Jim," it still felt strange to call the master of the house’s son by his Christian name, but Ellison had insisted. After several tense seconds, Jim’s complete silence began to worry her and she risked a quick glance over her shoulder. He stood beside the bed, dressed only in the dark trousers, his chest bare and heaving as if he’d run a race. "Jim!" Megan rushed to his side, hands gripping his upper arms. Ellison did not respond, he stood with eyes closed, features - empty of any emotion. Never in her life had Megan witnessed anything like it. To her it seemed as if Jim had passed out and only sheer will kept him upright. She shook him, horrified by the limp way his head snapped back, rolling to the side before he shuddered and drew a deep breath. "Jim? Can you hear me?"

The clear blue eyes which opened stared directly into hers and a smile - brilliant and completely awed- lit his face. "He’s outside," Jim said.

"Who? What....," Megan began, but Jim waved her questions away.

"Look, go down the back stairs," Jim instructed. "There’s a horseless carriage with," he cocked his head to the side, listening, a grin spread across his lips, "with a black man driving it. Tell him to wait there and not let Blair out of his sight. I’m on my way." Megan turned to do as asked but Jim stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Megan, thanks. I can’t tell you how much this," he gestured at the space between them, "means to me."

"It’s okay," she said with an answering smile, "I know how much....the Chief means to you." Jim was left staring at empty space as she rushed from the room. He knew if the situation had been different, if he had not found the other half of his soul in the arms of Blair Sandburg, he could have loved her. Jim shook himself free of the indulgent thoughts and finished dressing. He could hear Simon outside, above the rattle of the automobile but more wonderful than that - he could hear Blair.

Jim? 

Ellison allowed a silent pray to cross his lips. Sandburg was outside, standing....about twenty feet from the north edge of the house. Damn! He was heading around to the front of the house and he was speaking directly to Jim as he did.

Jim, I hope you can hear me. I’m coming in there and we’re leaving together.

He could feel his senses, so recently flaring wildly, snap back under his control. Just the presence of the man he cared for above all others made them respond. He focused on Sandburg, following Blair’s path around the house and up towards the front door. Megan burst back into the room, her breathless pant loud in his ears.

"Mr. Banks says they’ve got tickets and you’ll be in St. Joseph by morning. But," she gasped for breath, "Blair’s on his way in. Can we get to him first?" 

"Only if we hurry," Jim said. Urgency spurred him to action, he gathered the few things he needed; wallet, extra clothing, and a small bundle of papers. "We need to slip through the parlor, my father is in his den." He had to get down to Blair before the other man attempted to come into the house. William had something planned, that was a given.

"Yes, sir," Megan whispered obediently, opening the door and peering both ways before they stepped out into the hall. The thick carpet underfoot muffled their progress through the house. Jim tracked his father’s and the woman’s, Cassie’s, movements for a moment then switched back to finding Blair. His lover had mounted the front steps and was just about to jimmy the lock, he quickened the pace. Reaching the stairs which lead down to the entrance hall, Jim staggered. "What’s wrong?" Megan caught his arm just as Jim swayed, "Jim!" Dizzy, Ellison closed his eyes before nodding slowly.

"It’s okay," he assured her, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, "we have to hurry...." A sound, the creak of the study doors opening drew him up short. Jim focused on the room. And heard two sets of feet heading towards the hall just as the door clicked open. "Blair," he said in a hollow voice but it was too late, his lover uttered a surprised yelp and then William Ellison’s voice cracked the air like a whip.

"Sandburg, we meet again!" 

Jim didn’t wait for anything else his father might say, he hurdled himself down the steep staircase, stumbling halfway down as stiff muscles protested their abuse, but managed to stay on his feet through sheer force of will. His heart hammered his ribs, threatening to shatter the bone and careen down the steps before him. He had to get to Blair, he had to stop his father from whatever evil strategy he’d come up with. Jim crashed into the railing, coming to a stop at the first landing and looking down on the three people playing out their drama below him. Two faces glared up at him with irritation, his father’s and the young red-headed woman with him, while Sandburg’s gaze held relief...and adoration.

"I warned you," Jim said quietly, "I said if you touched him I would kill you."

"James," William growled, "the time for theatrics is long passed." Blair began to move, slowly mounting the five stairs which separated them, coming to his lover’s side as if drawn by some unseen hand. Jim allowed his eyes to gentle, the allayment of his greatest fear - that he would never be with Blair again - doing much to calm him. "Stay where you are, Sandburg." Jim looked passed his lover and saw the gun which had appeared in his father’s hand. 

"Wait a minute, William," Cassie said in a trembling voice, "this is more than....." Turning the pistol on her, William gestured Cassie to join Jim and Blair.

"This is all about your precious name, isn’t it?" Jim demanded. "If people find out your son is some kind of a - a pervert you’d die of shame." Jim stepped closer to his father, face twisted into a sneer, "well I’ve got news for you, Father, I’ve wanted to die of shame for being William Ellison’s son."

"Shut up, James," William warned, the gun swung around to point directly at Jim’s chest. "I’ve arranged with Doctor Cameron for you to go to his clinic. He promises me that you’ll be a real man...."

"Like him?" Jim laughed, a harsh sound which ripped from his throat and had Blair pressing closer. "Do you know what he does? How much pleasure he gets from trying to "cure" me?" Jim saw the startled look Blair gave him, the anger which flowed through his lover’s body in defense of him. "I don’t think his cure is what I need."

"I asked you before," Blair said, his voice deep with authority, eyes glued to the gun aimed at Jim, "let us go and you’ll never see either of us again."

William snorted, gun dipping for just a split second and life changed forever. Jim realized, a fraction of a second too late, what Blair intended. Sandburg kicked at the heavy elephant foot stand William had brought back from a trip to Africa, sending it tumbling even as he launched himself at William Ellison, sailing off the bottom stair like a spear. Jim heard the gunshot like the two halves of his heart breaking. The sight of Blair, seeming to pause in midair, his body jerking and twisting to the side, seared Ellison’s brain. A red rage swept over Jim, he felt it surge along his body until it covered his vision. He wanted to scream, wanted to shout with fury at his father, at his lover, at a world which would give him something so beautiful only to take it away again. Ellison felt his mind floating, drifting as the red rage which had been only inside his mind, leaked from Blair’s cheat and splattered on the floor. He screamed, the sound unearthly and drawn from somewhere deep within him - half fury - half grief, and hurled himself towards his lover. "Blair!" It was no longer a name, but a roar which shook the house on its foundation, deifying the universe to stop him. Jim threw himself on his knees beside Sandburg’s prone body, ignoring the man still standing above him, smoking gun pointed at his head.

At the same instant the front door burst open and Simon Banks stood framed by the inky blackness like a warrior. Banks moved like a dark fall of water, streaming over William Ellison and swallowing him in his grip. The pistol waved, held high above the torrent, dipped and appeared again. Jim, tearing his gaze away from Blair’s still body, shouted a warning but the sound was lost amid the explosion of gunpowder propelling the bullet. His extraordinary eyesight tracked the flattening lead pellet. There was barely a split second between the report and the quiet tinkle of glass shattering before the horrific whoosh from the gas jet set in the wall.

A fireball shot out, streaking overhead like some vengeful dragon, it’s flame tongue licking the fringed draperies which ringed the hall, kissing them with fire. The wool hangings went up like kindling, flames racing from one end of the room to the other, igniting flocked paper, feeding on imported carpets and paneling. Jim barely had time to draw a breath before smoke filled the room and breathing became a labored task. He gathered Blair close, crushing the smaller man to his chest, protecting the heart of his soul with the only shield he had. A wave of strength crested through him, called from deep inside and banishing the weakness his torturous confinement had left. He lifted Blair to his feet, supporting the slender weight, urging Sandburg to cling to him. Hot blood flowed over his fingers and Blair whimpered with pain as his grip tightened on the wound. 

"I’ve got you, Chief," he assured his friend, "we’re gonna make it." Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Cassie Wells, cringing in the corner, suddenly rush forwards, dashing through the flames for the door to the street. Fire danced along the ceiling, roiling black clouds fanning out to cover the sight of her race for safety. Jim heard an ominous crack, his eyes automatically adjusted to show him the the ceiling beam being consumed by fire, giving way as the woman passed beneath. Smoke filled his lungs as his lips formed a warning but he could not stop the inevitable. He turned away, burying his face in Blair’s curls as Cassie’s scream was cut off by a sickening thud. 

"Jim," Simon called. "We have to go - now!" Jim looked up, the absolute despair shining from his eyes, making Banks flinch. "Is he...?"

"J-Jim?" Ellison shuddered, his heart began to beat again as realization flooded him. Blair had called to him, his lover had spoken his name. Sandburg began to cough, the smoke swirling heavily in the air, burning their lungs. 

"Chief? Blair, can you hear me?" He pressed his hand to Blair’s side, the heat of thick blood almost scalding his flesh. 

"Jim," Banks shouted again. Jim saw that the big man had Megan by the wrist, tugging her towards the parlor door. Flames were eating along the woodwork but they had to try and escape that way. The parlor had wide French doors which opened onto a stone courtyard from there they could slip away. Banks kicked the door open, ducking just in time as a stream of fire surged up. Megan bent to scoop up the bundle Jim had dropped, flung her apron over her face and leapt through the fire. Simon reached back and gripped Ellison’s shoulder. "Now, Jim," he urged. Jim cast a look over his shoulder, barely able to see his father’s still form on the floor. "I’ll get him," Simon yelled and disappeared in the smoke. 

Jim hugged his lover tighter, feeling the heat from the flames licking his back. Overhead the plaster ceiling was cracking, large chunks pelted the marble floor like mortars. All around them it felt as if a war was being waged; fire, and destruction rained down with amazing swiftness. The house no longer looked like a house, it had become a battlefield where life hung in the balance. Jim stretched his hearing, filtering out the crackling blaze until he could hear the servants. They were scurrying about, gathering belongings and rushing for the back doors. Ellison allowed a split second of relief to touch him then bundled Blair into his arms and hurled them into the parlor, knowing exactly where the window lay which would grant them blessed air. Thick, black smoke hung in the air, draped around the walls like funereal bunting. Chouteau House had begun to mourn its own death. Spots danced before his eyes, complicated patterns of fire and smoke made his vision swirl and Sandburg’s dead weight dragged at him. Jim refused to give in, nothing could break the hold he kept on Sandburg. It won’t end like this, he thought savagely, we survived water, now we survive fire. The floor bucked beneath his feet, furniture sprang up in his path, but Jim kept moving, inching them closer and just as he thought they would perish, the faintest touch of fresh air caressed his cheek. Blair hung limply in his arms, his hair a tangled curtain around his soot streaked face. Jim pulled him closer, praying they would make it to safety before he passed out. And then, only feet from the window, Ellison realized he could no longer hear the shuddering breaths which had been coming from the body he cradled close, Blair’s breathing had ceased.

"No, baby," he commanded. "No, this can’t...."

"Jim!" Megan appeared like a singed angel, pulling him from the smoke, her strong arms encircling his waist and guiding him to a patch of soft green lawn in the far corner of the courtyard. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jim registered the fire eating his boyhood home, destroying everything he had ever known and he didn’t care. Blair lay eerily still, the mobile features lax, lips slightly parted. 

"He’s not breathing," Jim whispered numbly. His mind reeled, he had no idea what to do, no thought as to how and make it right, how to return his lover to him. He looked up at Megan, eyes black pits where no hope shown. The young Australian shook her head.

"Blow air into his mouth," she cried. "I saw it once. Do it!" She pushed Jim’s head down, forcing his lips to Blair’s in a parody of a kiss. Jim touched his mouth to Blair’s his mind replaying every kiss they had shared, the sultry taste of his lover’s lips in passion, the playful quirk of his tongue, the gentle sharing of comfort. As if he could impart his soul with this act, Jim forced air into Blair’s mouth, hand covering his nose to prevent the escape of this most precious of gifts. Three times he tried, each time more desperate as nothing happened. Blair could not die. He knew it as certainly as he knew the world was round. Each second of his life revolved around Sandburg and if Blair was not in that life....there was no point in going on.

"Jim, look," Megan gripped his arm, pointing towards Blair’s chest. Jim waited, saw what Megan had seen - the slow rise and shuddering fall. He focused on the heartbeat he knew better than his own and sighed in relief. Blair was alive - the world would go on.

"Chief? Blair, can you hear me?" Sandburg began to cough, chest heaving as his abused lungs demanded more air. Jim slid an arm under him, propping Blair against his own chest to ease the harsh spasms raking his body. "Easy, babe," he soothed, oblivious to the startled look Simon Banks cast at him as he lowered William to the ground.

"We need to go, Jim," Simon explained. "The fire brigade is on its way, the police can’t be far behind." The sound of sirens filled the night air, spurring the four into action. Megan and Simon ran ahead to the automobile parked in the alley, clearing a place for Jim to settle Blair. Despite Sandburg’s feeble protests, Jim lifted Blair into his arms and maneuvered them into the small rear seat so that the younger man lay with his head pillowed on Ellison’s thigh.

"Sssh, Blair," Jim soothed. His large hand amazingly tender as it combed through the tangled locks, "rest a bit." His sensitive fingers had discovered that the bullet crease in Blair’s side, though deep, was not life threatening. Keeping pressure on the wound, he gauged the ever slowing trickle of blood. As Simon pulled the auto to a halt near the train station, the flow had stopped and Jim could feel only the regular breathing of the man held in his arms. "Chief, can you sit up?" Blair roused slightly, dazedly squinting at his surroundings. "We’re catching a train, Chief. We’re heading.....home." The smile which graced Blair’s pale face was the most beautiful thing Jim could ever remember seeing. "You can never know how much I love you," Ellison said, voice reverent and eyes worshipping. 

* * *

".....and then I was running, running through jungle so thick I couldn’t see the path until it opened before me," Jim murmured. Sandburg was stretched out on the narrow bunk, his shoulders resting in Jim’s lap, head pillowed on one powerful forearm. The gentle rocking of the train played counter point to the steady beating of Blair’s heart. Jim found he couldn’t not focus on that sound - it had been ingrained so deeply on his subconscious that it was almost as if his lover’s heart beat in his chest beside his own. Ellison looked across to where Megan was curled on the opposite bench, eyes tracking the motion of his hand as Jim idly caressed Blair’s hair. Her smile, when their eyes met, was open and accepting and filled him with a warmth that spread itself to his eyes. He gazed down into Blair’s face, and felt the breath leave his body. Blair returned his gaze with blazing eyes, the love he saw there made Jim ill inside. God, he loved him. Just looking at Sandburg made Jim want to stay like that forever. He wanted the light to shine in Blair’s eyes like that every time their gazes locked. Blair was his heart, the blood which flowed in his veins, the breath which stirred in his lungs and when he gazed into those deep blue eyes he wanted never to look away. But the memory of Sandburg flinging himself at William, ready to throw his life away, haunted Jim. Someday Blair would leave him, someday he would be alone again. No one ever stayed, no one. Jim leaned over, smoothing the hair back from the high forehead , and pressed a kiss to the warm skin. He would take what Blair gave him, make each second count and someday when he had only his memories to keep him company, he would remember the love which shown in Sandburg’s face at this moment. 

. "Jim?" Ellison blinked, tearing his thoughts away from the destiny he’d discovered to the living, breathing embodiment of his future. "Jim, did you see a temple? Anyplace that might have given you a clue as to the location?"

The earnest look which greeted him, made Jim smile softly. "Yeah," he admitted, "the jaguar leapt up onto an....altar, I guess. I could see," Jim closed his eyes, recalling the details of the dream for Blair. They were heading west, fleeing the reach of William Ellison’s money and about to begin an adventure all their own. "It looked like....like an eye!" Jim blinked again, a frown creasing his brow as the odd image burned itself into his mind. He could still see the stylized eye with its radiating lines. It had riveted him, stranding him in the dreamscape until the jaguar had risen up into human form. "The jaguar turned into an Indian, Blair. He looked right into my soul and said these senses were a gift I’d been given."

"That’s amazing, Jim!" Blair struggled to rise, but Jim held him down until Sandburg sighed. "I’m fine, really." Seeing the determination in his lover’s eyes, Blair only shook his head and continued from his prone position, "Burton’s papers spoke of a Temple of the Sentinel’s. He mentioned the All Seeing Eye that they worshipped. I can’t wait to study this!"

Every instinct in his soul screamed out that Sandburg’s life was the only thing which mattered. "All in due time, Chief," Jim said, planting a kiss on the younger man’s temple. "First we get to St. Joseph then we head west. Simon’s putting us up in Cascade until we can get our lives in order." As if the utterance of his name held magic, Simon Banks came through the door his arms laden with newspapers.

"I think you should see this, Jim," he told Ellison. Jim shot Blair an apprehensive look then took one of the papers. FIRE KILLS ONE, INJURES PROMINENT CITIZEN The story went on to say how William Ellison had been found dazed in front of his burning mansion. A reporter named Cassie Wells, a friend of the family, had been discovered dead in the ruined house. No cause for the blaze had been determined and according to Ellison no other members of the family had been present. 

"He’s letting us go," Blair said.

"No," Jim shook his head, the sure and certain knowledge that William Ellison would never let go that easily filled him. He forced a smile and tapped the curls beneath his hand. "We just outwitted him." Blair gazed up at him, understanding pouring from his blue eyes but he too smiled. For now, they were safe. For now that was enough - that and the heartbeat echoing in his ears. 

 

The End….. to be continued in Part 3: Reach the Shore


	3. Reach the Shore

Reach the Shore

Part 3 Titanic Saga

By Gena 

 

Saint Joseph sparkled like a jewel set in that muddy necklace of Missouri river churning beside her. Late afternoon sunlight glinted off window glass in buildings lining the downtown area, some as tall as ten storeys, and imparted an energy to the city. Jim Ellison raised an eyebrow as the train pulled into the station and they were met by the sight of what seemed like another river pouring down the street in front of Union Station. This river roared by in patches of brown, white, black and gray, racing on hooves which struck sparks on the bricked street and, bellowed cries which rent the still air.

"What the hell is that?" Blair asked from over Ellison’s shoulder. Jim turned, looking up at his lover, and felt his heart melt inside his chest. The last rays of light caught in Sandburg’s hair, streaking the chestnut curls with crimson and gold, and raced across his spectacles, making flames seem to dance in his eyes. Blair looked as wild and untamed as the cow town had been only two decades before.

"Cattle going to the stockyards," Jim explained. He had journeyed to St. Joe many times on business and seen the cattle herded down sixth street from the stockyards to the railroad cars on numerous occasions. People lined the streets watching this bovine parade as if it might be their last chance. Saint Joseph, a once wide open frontier town, with prosperity it had changed; gone were the dirt roads and drunken cowboys, replaced by paved streets, and businessmen. The West was moving on, leaving behind a bustling city filled with the genteel ways and proper manners of its newly refined citizens. Jesse and Frank James had faded into legend, the Pony Express into obscurity and Jim Ellison hoped he and his lover could fade just as easily into anonymity. Jim stepped down from the train and waited for Blair to gingerly make his way off. The younger man hissed as the healing bullet crease in his side pulled slightly from his movements.

"Are you all right?" Ellison was at Sandburg’s side in an instant, one arm bracing Blair’s back, the other gripping his arm. Blair’s fingers curled into the material of Jim’s coat sleeve and it took him a moment to straighten back up. When he did his face looked ashen and sweat beaded his temples. They had cleaned the wound and bound it as well as they could but Jim still feared a terrible infection setting in, robbing him of the one thing he held most precious in life. The memory of how close he had come to never seeing his lover again had driven a pathological fear of losing him into Ellison. "We’re going to find a doctor as soon as we settle into the hotel," he decided. Sandburg shot him a look meant to intimidate but Jim merely gazed back at him impassively. 

"That sounds like a good idea," Megan Conner chimed in as she descended the steps behind Blair. Jim took her arm and helped her to the platform with a smile. "So gallant, Mr. Ellison," she teased. Her cheeks flamed an instant later when her eyes found Blair watching them with a thoughtful expression on his face. Often, in the privacy of her own mind, she’d entertained fantasies of she and James Ellison. Her - daughter of an Australian trapper and him son of a wealthy American businessman. But they were just that - fantasies. She had only to look at the reality of Blair to know them for what they were. When Jim’s gaze fell on Sandburg his whole demeanor changed; the distant loner vanished, replaced by a man who smiled and glowed with happiness, he doted on the younger man as if only Blair’s contentment could make the sun shine and the world turn. And for him it did. Megan knew Ellison could never be hers but she liked him as a friend and hoped Blair would see that. Jim, sensing his partner’s mood, turned to scrutinize his lover.

"You okay, Chief?" Jim asked and Megan watched him shift his entire attention to his companion. When she met Blair’s eye over Jim’s shoulder she saw a proprietary hand come to rest on Ellison’s wide shoulder but there was no malice in the blue gaze, just a friendly reminder. Megan nodded to him, her own smile resigned, and looked back towards the train for Simon Banks’ arrival.

"Tired," Sandburg admitted, then studied Jim’s face intently. He took in the slumped shoulders and dark smudged under Ellison’s gentle eyes, the paleness of his skin and asked, "how are you?"

"Tired," Ellison said with a shrug. The adrenaline rush of the early morning which had gotten him through the long train trip was clearing wearing off. Ellison had refused to close his eyes, irrationally afraid that the warm body he cradled might disappear if he did. Simon and Megan, both, had urged him to rest but Jim had merely shaken his head and turned his attention to Sandburg; soothing him from his nightmares, easing his pain as Megan clean and tended the wound in his side. But now, with their escape a reality, the need for sleep had become imperative, he could feel weariness weighing down his limbs and numbing his mind. Simon Banks hopped off the train in time to hear Ellison’s remark and pointed a finger at his friend.

"We’re all tired. I don’t suppose this one horse town has a hotel?"

"It has one of the finest this side of the Mississippi," Ellison told them. "Come on, the Hotel Robidoux is just up the hill. We can walk it." Jim refused to let Blair carry his own bag and Simon shouldered Megan’s meager possessions despite her protest and all four headed up fifth street towards the big hotel on Francis. Jim pointed out the house where the outlaw Jesse James had been killed years earlier and showed them the Pony Express stables as they passed near the huge old building. "The conductor said Buffalo Bill Cody himself has been here a few weeks with his Wild West show and to dedicate a monument to the Pony Express riders." Ellison quirked an appraising brow in Blair’s direction, "you would have made a good rider," he whispered, "young, wiry, orphans preferred."

"Sure, that’s something I always wanted to do," Blair assured the other man, "be scalped by Indians." 

Jim ran a hand through Sandburg’s luxurious curls, "never mind, Chief. I think I want to be the only person allowed to play with your hair," he confided. Blair’s grin and the light in his eyes stole Ellison’s heart. He concentrated on walking, ignoring the flash fire ripping along his body and searing his insides. He wanted to gather Blair to him, sink into the love he could actually see and not stir for the rest of his life, but the safety of his little group took precedence over even that. Jim knew they couldn’t stay in St. Jo too long, his father would be looking for them soon. William Ellison never gave up and now, Jim feared, his father would want Blair Sandburg dead for the ruination of Chouteau House and the rescue of Jim himself.

The Hotel Robidoux, nine stories high, dominated its surroundings with the sheer stability it radiated. From the square, solid practicality of its exterior it’s portico led into a fanciful oasis. An ocean of marble floor greeted the visitor with intricately carved columns, gilded and magnificent, rising like water spouts, leading the eye upwards to an gilded ceiling. Heavy leather chairs and couches were arranged to encourage quiet conversation and elegant paintings added to the peaceful mood of the place. Jim chuckled when Megan side-stepped an Oriental rug, her self-conscious action the only reminder that she had been a servant until recently. Now, she was......she was a part of their family, Jim decided. He looked over at Simon Banks and met the warm brown eyes with a smile. Simon, too, had become more than a business partner. The four of them had been tossed together in tragedy and forged bonds which would last a lifetime and beyond. Blair cast a look over at him and the union sealed itself in his eyes. 

"May I help you, Sir?" A clerk in a light gray suit peered up at Ellison when the group stopped at the front desk. They had cleaned up as best the Pullman would allow, still it was a slightly bedraggled group which arranged for three rooms, in the names Sarah McKinny, Thomas Milford and Joseph Colby. Blair hung back, only falling into step when they were lead up to the fifth floor by a bellhop. The halls were lined with lustrous panels of oak and hand painted wallpaper. Brass doorknobs, electric light gleaming off the highly polished surfaces, spotlighted their way and under foot thick carpets cushioned their footfalls so that the whole procession made no more noise than wind whispering over tall grass. Simon and Megan were shown rooms on the right and Jim and Blair led into a lavish suite on the left. Jim barely waited for the bellboy to leave before turning to gather Blair into his arms, but when he turned Sandburg had disappeared. He extended his hearing, tracing his lover to the adjoining room and headed for the connecting door. He grinned as it swung open and Blair answered him with his own grin.

"Hey, stranger," Sandburg purred, "where’ve you been hiding?" Their bodies came together with perfect harmony; meshing into one entity - one soul. Jim let himself relax, all thoughts of William Ellison and the danger he presented falling away like stones into water, the rings expanding until they disappeared completely. He soaked up the feeling of Blair held to his chest and wondered again at his luck - or maybe it had been Providence. Maybe it had been destined that he would meet the perfect match for his heart, for his life, on board a doomed steamer in the middle of the Atlantic. 

"I am so lucky," he crooned into the thick curls nestled against his chin. "I lived thirty two years without you and then when I thought all hope was gone you found me."

"I feel the same way," Blair murmured. He had a wonderful voice, throaty and seductive, it resonated through Ellison’s chest and made him groan with pleasure. Slowly, he realized Blair was pressing him backwards, working them back into the bedroom and straight towards the four-poster bed. 

"B-baby," Jim cautioned, "careful." He gently lowered them to the thick mattress, settling the younger man on top of him as smoothly as water flowing in a brook. Blair sighed and snuggled as close as he could. "Chief? Blair, we need to get a doctor up here to look at that wound," he reminded but Sandburg didn’t respond. Jim concentrated on his lover’s breathing, hearing the evened measure and knew the exhausted man had fallen asleep. He extended his sense of touch, checking for fever and found nothing, nor had the bleeding of the night before resumed. Jim echoed his lover’s sigh and closed his eyes. He told himself he would not fall asleep, merely doze as he kept watch over his lover like the sentinel Blair called him. He would keep them both safe from his father’s vengeance but darkness swept him away even as he pondered when and how his father would get to them.

* * *

A soft knock on the door an hour later sent Ellison’s heart crashing against his ribs. In his mind, William pounded on the other side, demanding Blair be surrendered to him and his own form of justice. "Mr. Colby?" a voice called from the hallway. This new arrival had the flat accent of a born Midwesterner and the fear that William Ellison had found them slowly faded from Jim’s mind. Jim disentangled himself from the younger man’s arms and answered the door. "I’m Doctor Samuels. Mr. Milford asked me to drop by and check on your young friend," an elderly man in a black suit announced. Jim shook his head ruefully, Simon had a great fondness for Blair and had been all in favor of a doctor’s visit. Thank goodness he’d had the sense to wait a decent interval until the two of them had spent a little time together. 

"Come on in," Jim said. The doctor’s wrinkled face held two bright gray eyes, these raked Ellison with a clinical gaze before darting to the figure on the bed.

"I think you could use my services as well," Samuels noted.

Ellison licked suddenly dry lips, "t-that’s okay. I’m fine." Samuels flicked him another look but turned his attentions to Sandburg. Blair roused sluggishly, following the doctors verbal instructions to raise his arm slightly so that the wound in his side could be examined. Jim hovered nearby, giving the impression of privacy while each low word thundered in his ears. He focused on Sandburg’s heartbeat, gauging his lover’s discomfort as the exam progressed. Blair didn’t make a sound as the bandage was removed, the wound cleaned and dressed again, but each time his heart rate skyrocketed, Ellison’s own thundered in response. Samuels kept up a friendly line of chatter, his hands competent and sure and soon he patted Blair’s shoulder and the younger man subsided into sleep almost immediately.

"How is he?’ Jim demanded as amicably as possible.

"Someone did a fine job of patching him up," Samuels declared. "He’s young and strong and the bullet only gouged a chunk out of his hide. He’s going to be sore for a while, let him rest a day or two and he’d be good as new." The doctor waved his black bag towards Jim, "I can prescribe the same for you, young fella. You look like you been rode hard and put up wet."

"It’s been a long trip," Jim lied. Samuels’ eyes showed the failure of his false words but the thought of any man touching him, sent a frizz of fear crackling along his spine. The doctor nodded defeat and left Jim alone to stare at his sleeping lover. He drew a horsehair chair up to the bed and fell into it with a fatigued groan. Peace and satisfaction spilled through him, driving the unease the doctor and his black bag has stirred up. Jim chased the thoughts back and forth inside his head, amazed that even the possibility of a stranger’s touch send him reeling and yet he craved Sandburg’s hands like the air he breathed. Blair was a part of him, something broken from his soul long before he’d noticed its absence. 

Jim leaned down, gently trailing his fingers over his sleeping lover’s cheek. Amazement swelled within him, he could feel the heat from Blair’s body like flames warming his very heart. He concentrated on that single sensation, letting the essence of his young lover completely consume him; the living being beneath his fingers, the blood flowing in Blair’s veins, the air sweeping in and out of his lungs, the steady beat of his heart. Nothing in his life had ever prepared James Ellison for the emotions now coursing through his soul. Never before had he been willing to kill, die or live at another’s whim. Not before Blair. Jim left his gaze drift lower, settling on the full lips and remembered the passion he had shared for the first time in his life. The desert of his heart had blazed , burning away the loneliness. Blair had replaced everything in his life, he had freed Jim of the horror which had haunted him, convinced him his soul wasn’t so black, his spirit so hideous that anyone glimpsing it would flee in horror. If someone as special as Sandburg could feel something for him, then he could not be so far removed from humankind.

Jim let his hands tangle in the thick curls, marveling as the silken threads wound round his fingers. He soaked up the feeling with a contented sigh. If ever there came a day when Blair no longer cared for him Jim vowed to let his lover go. He stroked another fat curl, breathing deeply of the scent which sprang up. He stored every sensation away, hoarding them like a miser does his gold, saving them in case a time came when he would no longer be allowed to do so. Blair called him a Sentinel, a guardian, but he felt like a stray, aimlessly wandering alone in the darkness. He needed the safety of Sandburg’s guidance. Without Blair, he’d been spiraling out of control, losing himself in the maelstrom of his senses. Jim realized, now, that these strange abilities had always been with him, though his father had tried his best to beat them out of existence. Jim shivered as the half buried memory of William Ellison’s brutal remedy assailed his mind, he still carried the scars on his back from his father’s anger over what William had said were lies. Those weren’t the only scares William had left but those had been the most vivid. Jim had struggled to be as his father demanded, forcing his senses back within normal limits, denying they had ever been there until they had sprung to life once again. And with their return Ellison had begun to forfeit his ability to cope. 

The doctors had shaken their heads, saying there was nothing wrong with him, and prescribing a long rest with their drugs. And Jim had believed them. He was insane, the realization pounded into him by voices only he could hear, the clawing of his clothing on sensitive skin, smells no one else could detect but which had him retching. There had been many nights, sleep only a distance memory as his head pounded with pain, his mind seemed to drift away into a white limbo where nothing reached him anymore. It was a blessing at times, to stray the confines of his tormented body and give himself up to this nothingness. He wondered if the sensation was anything like death would be. No one had understood his torment, they shared pitying looks with Carolyn and then offered to make her poor husband comfortable in their expensive clinics. Only Blair Sandburg had held the answers he’d searched for and so much more. The overwhelming crush of sight, hearing, touch, taste and smell, corkscrewing from his grasp had become so terrifying that death had seemed like an appealing alternative. Until Blair had saved him. Sandburg had calmed his fears, soothed the pain, and explained what was happening as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He had made Jim feel normal again. Normal. Ellison laughed quietly to himself, that was one word his own father would never use to describe him. Warm breath feathered across his fingers, drawing Jim back from the mists of his thoughts. He loved Blair to a depth mere mortal weren’t suppose to feel and he could never again survive without him. He leaned over, pressing his lips to Blair’s, softly, gently, transferring his heart into his lover’s keeping.

"Jim?" Blair’s sleepy voice made him pull back and the tender eyes which blinked up at him shredded his insides. "Why do you look so sad?"

"Because I love you so much." Once the words were uttered, Jim wished them back. He didn’t want Sandburg exposed to his fears, to his doubts.

But Blair smiled, a sadness of his own filling his expressive features, "I know, Jim." He closed his eyes and settled back into peaceful slumber. Jim kissed him again, trying to impart everything he felt, everything he feared, everything he longed for with that single act. The almost silent click of the latch and embarrassed cough from the doorway made Ellison raise his eyes to meet Simon Banks’.

"Sorry, Simon," he whispered. Banks had done so much for them, helped Blair to effect his rescue from Chouteau House and offered them a partnership which would give them a life and make them all rich. He didn’t want the other man to feel uncomfortable in his company, but, too, he couldn’t hide what he felt.

"Don’t be," Simon said. He closed the door and took a seat opposite where Jim sat stroking Blair’s face. "Uh, Jim," he began, nervously pulling a cigar from his pocket and chewing on the end, "I...this...I just want you to know....I understand."

"You do?" Jim heard the incredulity in his own voice and wished it gone.

"Yes." Determined, steadfast, Simon met his gaze. "My father was a proud man. He’d been born a slave on a plantation in Mississippi. He had nothing growing up," Simon told his friend, "nothing. His family had been separated, sold to different owners when he was only ten years old. He knew the value of love, the power it granted to those who felt it." Banks’ gaze swept over the two men, taking in the way Blair had captured Jim’s wrist in his sleep, the tenderness of Ellison’s hands as they soothed the tired man. "What you and Blair have...it’s another kind of love, Jim, one I would never make light of or ever turn away from." He rose, towering over Ellison like a redwood tree, "my father taught me that the feelings between two people were for them alone and I agree with him. I’m proud to be your friend." He reached out a hand, waiting until Ellison grasped it before smiling, "come on. He’s sleeping and you need some food before you do the same." The larger man pulled Jim to his feet and both looked down at Sandburg. "We’ll all get to Cascade, Jim, don’t worry." Ellison nodded, with Banks beside him it didn’t seem quite so doubtful.

The River Trader restaurant could have rivaled anything found in New York, and its patrons did their best to conform to what they believed New Yorkers were saying and wearing. Megan had almost been in tears, afraid her plain clothing and manner might somehow upset the universe if she crossed the threshold in her white dress and black, buckled shoes. but Jim had insisted she was perfectly presentable. The three of them had just sit down when a hubbub arose from the corner of the room. Jim cocked his head, tuning into the racket in an effort to find out what was going on.

He heard the laugh first, a deep rumbling sound which produced an answering mirth within himself. An immaculate white Stetson floated above the heads of ladies in frilly bonnets and gentlemen in bowlers reminding Jim of the icebergs he had so recently observed. He hoped this particular phenomena didn’t prove as dangerous. Beneath the white hat, equally snowy hair and beard framed steely eyes lit with amusement and self-assurance. "It’s Buffalo Bill!" Megan gasped. Her dark eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed as the Old Scout, followed by a ragtag entourage, sauntered passed their table, making for his own. "Me dad raised me on tales of Buffalo Bill! I had nightmares when he read me Ned Buntline’s story of how Colonel Cody killed Yellow Hand." Megan craned her neck to keep the showman in her sights.

"I saw his show in Chicago," Simon added. "He rode around the arena shooting glass balls an Indian threw into the air." Banks’ shook his head at the memory, "damnedest thing I ever saw!" He chewed on the end of his cigar, and followed Megan’s gaze towards the table where Cody now held court. Many people milled around, and Jim could hear their fawning praise as well as the Colonel’s booming laugh and constant call for whisky. Often he’d seen the colorful posters announcing the Wild West Show’s arrival in a town, the nine foot tall advertisements were hard to miss. 

"I met him a couple of times," Jim remarked. The sudden silence at his table made him glance back at his companions. "What?" 

"You - you know Colonel Cody?" Megan stared at him as if he’d just claimed that one day people would walk on the moon.

"Sort of," Jim said with a shrug. "He’s from North Platte, just up the river," he waved towards the northwest. The waiter brought their steaks at that moment and the smell of prime beef made his mouth water and all thoughts of the old buffalo hunter flee his mind. Even Megan and her wide eyed enthusiasm over the showman faded a bit at the prospect of such an abundant feast. It wasn’t until the worst of their hunger had been swaged into something manageable that they again turned their attention to W.F. Cody. "You want to meet him?" Jim asked, turning to Megan.

For several moments the young Australian woman could only stare, then she nodded wildly. "Yes! Yes, please," she gushed. "My father will be thrilled for me." Jim shared a grin with Simon and the three of them rose and walked over to Cody’s table. The throng had departed leaving only the Colonel himself and his three followers. Ellison stepped forward and introduced himself.

"Colonel Cody, we were introduced last year at Mr. Chesterfield’s party honoring your engagement in St. Louis. Name’s Colby." The legendary cowboy frowned up at Jim for a moment before the brilliant blue eyes cleared and he smiled in recognition.

"Yes, I remember the face," he shook hands with Jim and invited the group to join him and his friends. Introductions made, Jim found himself seated next to a man Cody had presented as Allen Relsford. Jim smiled at the other man, and saw an speculative glint in the gray/blue eyes which locked with his. Jim knew intuitively the unasked question, he’d seen it enough times before to recognized instantly. Relsford stood barely as high as the Colonel’s chin, closer, Jim guessed, to Blair’s height. He even wore his dark hair in the bohemian style Sandburg favored, betraying the same intellectual slant as Ellison’s lover. "Allen here," Cody confided, slopping whiskey over the man’s trousers as he gestured wildly, "is the newest member of my little show. He’s responsible for my farewell tour, the force behind the brain," a weathered hand rose and Cody tapped his own temple.

Jim swallowed his grin. He’d heard the Colonel’s farewell tour was turning out to an incredibly long running affair. Begun in 1910, Buffalo Bill and his collection of acts and panoramas had crisscrossed the nation saying good-bye. The way he swilled his way through a whiskey bottle, Ellison guessed the scout would have to continue his farewells just to pay his bills. Jim, only half listening to Megan gush her admiration for the old man, signaled a passing waiter for a drink. Fatigue crept back with a vengeance, skewing his senses until the wine glass he’d been brought suddenly felt like a shard of ice within his fingers. Ellison fought the sensations, concentrating until he thought he’d regained control when pain ripped through his head like a fiery sword. His hand clenched, shattering the glass like eggshell. 

"Jim!" Simon, forgetting their aliases, gripped his friend’s arm. "What’s wrong?"

"S-sorry," Jim stuttered. He blinked back tears and massaged his throbbing temples. "I’m fine," he insisted, "I’m fine." The pain, a moment before so intense it had robbed him of speech, had receded to a dull ache. Every eye in the place had locked onto him and Ellison struggled to regain his composure, "just a old injury flaring up," he lied. "Please, continue without me." He produced a believable smile this time and rose to his feet. Something ticked at the back of his mind, but the threat of pain made him shut it away as he made his way across the room.

"Mr. Colby?" Relsford’s voice halted him just outside the door. "Mr. Colby, are you all right?" The younger man’s concerned expression appeared genuine but Jim clung to his wariness like a shield. If William’s agents were about they could take any form, even something as seemingly innocent as a chance encounter. 

"I’m fine, really," Jim maintained. His head had cleared considerably but it had aggravated the exhaustion weighing down on him and he craved his bed and the warm body which waited for him. 

"Mr. Colby," Relsford said, "I’m so relieved. I was quite worried." Jim relaxed as Relsford spilled forth on mundane topics, instinctively knowing what the other man wanted. He recognized the underlying current of the conversation, the subtle invitation and silent communication Relsford issued and though this man’s eerie resemblance to Blair attracted him, Jim met it with polite but firm rejection. He knew that at any other time in his life, he and this man would have danced around each other for a few hours then adjourned to a private room for the night and gone away the next morning with his emptiness intact. He again thanked his luck for the gift of Blair Sandburg and everything he had brought to Jim’s life. Relsford’s disappointment was palpable as they rode up in the elevator together. Jim felt a pang of regret, not for what he was missing, but for what Relsford was missing. He didn’t have the world waiting for him in the middle of a huge bed. When the doors opened on the fifth floor and they turned in opposite directions, each man heaved a sigh, one of disappointment the other of relief. Jim could barely contain his haste to embrace the source of all life.

He slipped into the dark room, eyes instantly adjusting so that, to him, it seemed as bright as morning. Blair lay curled on his side, the silken curtain of his hair fanned across his shadowed cheek, his lips parted ever so slightly to reveal the soft pink recess which Jim knew as the sweetest place in the universe. There in the inky room, his lover didn’t seem real, didn’t seem a part of any life he’d ever envisioned for himself. Jim stood beside the bed, eyes stinging from the tender ache which resided in his chest. Slowly he lowered himself to his knees, hands resting so close to his lover’s face that Blair’s breath bathed his knuckles in warmth. For a long time he didn’t move, merely stared at this man he loved with all his heart, all his soul and then touching the parted lips with one trembling finger he made a silent vow. Kneeling there in a darkened hotel room in Saint Joseph, Missouri James Ellison pledged to die before ever saying goodbye to his lover - unless Blair wished it and then he would say goodbye to life as well for it wouldn’t be worth living. 

"You’re staring again." The soft voice, low and silvery, raced across his skin like velvet and made Jim shiver.

"Sorry," he whispered and leaned down to kiss Blair’s temple. "Sometimes I think I’m dreaming. I just wanted to convince myself it’s real."

"Have this dream often?" Blair asked just as quietly, rolling onto his back so that his dark hair created a halo around his head. There was something mystical in the air, a fantastical mantle which draped itself around them, isolating them from the rest of the world and making the love which shimmered between them the only reality either could ever want or need. Ellison couldn’t really recall one single moment before this one which had ever filled him with the joy and love sweeping through him at that moment. 

"I’ve had this dream all my life," Jim said. He brought Blair’s fingers to his mouth, kissing each delicately before placing one searing kiss in the center of Sandburg’s palm. He rose to his feet and slid onto the bed, gathering Blair into his arms just as he had into his heart. "Before," he swallowed hard, never saying when but Sandburg pulled himself closer in silent empathy, wedging into Ellison’s arms, "before, I dreamed it all. We would have these long, silent conversations inside my head."

"What did we say?"

"We promised each other forever," Jim said simply. Claiming his lover’s mouth, Blair hushed any further words with a passion Jim had never felt before. Lips brushed every inch of his face, tracing his brows, his cheeks, his chin before sweeping along his throat, gaining in urgency. Jim tried to slow down, tried to hold back in deference to the wound barely begun healing along his lover’s side. Fire seemed to spread from each spot Sandburg touched, burning the along his skin until Jim writhed in pleasurable agony. He lowered his own mouth to the one demanding his surrender and gave himself up to the flames. Hands tore at him, ripping the fabric of his shirt, shredding his sanity just as easily. Sandburg’s knee thrust between his own, igniting another fire which consumed Ellison’s last resistance. Hands mapped his now bare chest, curling over hard muscle and sensitive nipples before being replaced by the devil’s mouth.

"Jesus, James," Blair prayed, unrepentant in the least. Hot palms scraped down Jim’s sides, tangling in the material of his waistband and shoving his trousers and underclothing down. Long fingered hands caressed the soft inner flesh of his thighs, cupped the swell of his ass and brought moans of delight gurgling from deep inside him. His own hands explored tender flesh, seeking the flashpoints mirrored on the slender body he held, calling responses too long denied by both. Sensations exploded, raining down over Jim as he thrust aside restrictive clothing and demanded the right to the man in his arms. They moved together, surging in unison as hands clawed, mouths dueled, lips prayed. Like scaling a mountain, each man labored up the summit, higher and higher, closer to the peak. And then......jointly they were flung into empty space. Jim soared, spiraling through the glowing sky, sensing Blair’s presence at his side. He heard the bellow of a soul wrung of every ounce of ecstasy and dimly recognized it as his own. And when he hit the ground, when his body folded in upon itself, the arms snaked around his waist tightened, securing him to the world again.

* * *

Warm cooper. Jim couldn’t understand it except in those terms. It seemed to fill his nostrils and trickled down his throat. Sleep fell away one layer at a time, letting him rise slowly from the enveloping haze to the chill reality of wakefulness. With each level he rose, something else impinged on his awareness; a soft sigh, closer to pain than pleasure followed by a tiny sucking sound like boots in mud finally had Ellison sitting up. He looked over at Blair, senses affixing themselves to his bed mate even as one hand instinctively touching the warmth to insure its reality, then got to his feet and moved to the door.

"Jim?" Sandburg’s faint whisper made Jim’s head snap around, but the younger man was already climbing from the bed to join him at the door. "What is it?"

"I’m not sure," Jim waved him to silence. He homed in on Simon’s room, but the sounds didn’t come from there, nor did they come from Megan’s room. He’d just cocked his head to the side, tracking this faint echo when the agony he’d experienced in the restaurant assailed him again. A band of iron seemed to clamp itself around his head, cinching tighter with each beat of his heart. Familiar hands caught him just before his knees gave way, holding him up as the pain roared through his head. Just as quickly as it came, it vanished leaving the dull ache behind. 

"Jim? What’s wrong?" Blair’s hoarse question barely registered. Ellison focused again, confused by these episodes overtaking him. 

"Pain. Like a bullet going through my head," Jim whispered. "It happened downstairs. I heard....something and then my head wanted to explode for the pain." 

Sandburg frowned, ideas churning through his brain, "you don’t remember what it was? What you heard?"

"No," Jim admitted, "I wasn’t focused on anything in particular, just listening." He wiped at beads of sweat inching down his temples and drew in a deep breath.

Blair nodded, chewing his lip. "This could be some kind of sensory warning," he guessed. "It could be you’ve heard something you associate with danger and subconsciously your body is warning you."

Jim stared at his younger lover for a moment, clearly skeptical then reached for his clothing and began dressing. "What are you doing?" he demanded as Sandburg did the same.

"Going with you." The tone booked no argument and neither did the steely eyes which gazed up at Jim. For one insane second Jim wanted to yell, he opened his mouth, anger twisted around his tongue, and then he closed it again and nodded. Blair could no more hide his protective instincts than Jim, himself, could. Sandburg would stop at nothing to help him with whatever he needed to do.

"Okay, but stay close," Jim instructed. Together they cat-footed down the hall, pausing every few steps for Ellison to listen. At one point, sensing the deepening concentration, Blair placed a gentle hand on his lover’s back. Jim shivered, turning glassy eyes down on him before they cleared and he led them on. It wasn’t until he reached the elevator an image formed in his mind, fitting itself to the smell which lingered on the air. Blood. Ellison gagged, momentarily reeling from the overwhelming assault.

"Picture a......a dial," came Sandburg’s commanding voice. "Turn it down, Jim. Lower it until you can stand it." Jim’s instinctual responses kicked in, Blair’s words filled him, guiding him perfectly. Giving his lover a slight smile, it quickly died as he pointed to a room three doors down on the right. 

"It’s coming from there." Keeping Blair behind him, Jim edged closer to the indicated door. He listened, hearing the scuff of boots on carpet, the evil whisper of steel being sheathed. He pushed Blair sideways, sending the younger man tumbling as the door cracked open. Ellison kicked the brass plate above the lock, splintering wood and knocking whoever lurked on the other side sprawling. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t pay any attention as Blair righted himself and peered into the darkness.

Jim found the source of the smell immediately. Allen Relsford’s blood shimmered iridescently, crawling away from his lifeless body like vipers fleeing light. Jim gulped a deep breath, a flicker of movement slamming into his awareness like a fist. The figure darted in, knife whipping across Ellison’s face, the tip kissing his cheek as he rolled to the side. He sprang to his feet, amazed by the calmness which settled inside him, buoyant and steady. He let his mind close down, reacting on some deeper level than he’d ever suspected of existing within him. When the knife wielding attacker lunged, Ellison acted. Jim went over backwards, catching his assailant’s wrist and pulling so that the knife grazed his side harmlessly and became trapped beneath him as they fell. 

A table snapped under their weight, broken to kindling by their wildly struggling bodies. The pitcher and basin hailed over them. Jim kicked back, heaving himself onto the other man’s chest with a groan. Pinned to the floor, the stranger wrestled for control, grunting and sweating as he struck out with fists and feet. Light spilled in from the open hallway, and in some corner of his mind, Jim caught sight of the painted flowers ringing the glass pitcher and basin wedged beneath the bed like some bizarre garden growing in the room. Jim absorbed the punch which hammered his gut, drawing his knees up with explosive force and striking out with both feet. The figure flew backwards, careening off the foot board, and landing across Relsford’s still form. Jim snatched up the fallen basin and threw himself forward, he drew back, swinging the heavy porcelain with all his strength. His ears registered the whistle of air over its surface, and then the dull crunch and sharp snap as it connected with bone. Neither glass nor bone were strong enough to stand the duel, each gave way and the resonating thunder deafened Ellison. Flecks of blood spewing from torn flesh struck Ellison’s face. Faintly, Ellison heard Blair drawing nearer, speaking softly to him. A match flared, an arrow of light that cut across the space separating them, but it all fell away, lost beneath the rising onslaught of his senses.

* * *

Blair followed the struggle by sound only. Jim’s shove had sent him several stumbling feet back towards safety but he’d rushed back to the doorway as Ellison bolted inside. A patch of light from the hall, as pale as a tree’s flesh with the bark peeled away, lay on the carpet and the sightless eyes of a dead man gazed up at Sandburg. Blair swallowed his panic and listened to the fight going on in the darkness. Figures darted at each other, the glint of light on steel speared his eyes for an instant and then the crash of a table followed. He heard Jim’s gasp, the thud of fists, the slam of a body hitting the floor and crept into the inky blackness. He paused just inside, drawn by a need to help Jim, yet reluctant to do anything lest it be the wrong thing. 

His foot scraped against the limp body of the room’s occupant and Blair knelt reflexively. He reached out, weary as the fight went on and on, and touched the man’s cheek. Cold, clammy flesh made Sandburg snatch his hand back at the same instant someone landed across the dead man’s legs. Shock landed him on his butt and kept him there as Ellison surged from the shadows, a porcelain basin swinging around his head like a scimitar. The heavy bowl smote the unknown attacker like god’s vengeance. The man crumpled and lay still. Blair drew himself up, scrabbling in his vest pocket for a match. When the tiny flame shown on Ellison’s face, Blair called to him, urging his lover’s attention to focus upon him, but it was like staring at a statue. Jim’s skin looked drained of blood, his pallor almost glowing in the dim light.

"Jim, don’t do this," he coaxed, "I need you with me here." This time his hand closed on living flesh, but there was no more response than there had been when he touched the dead man. "Jim," keeping his tone soothing, calling to the flickering consciousness he knew had lost its way in the storm of sensation, Blair prompted a reaction. "This guy, this dead guy, he looks like me, Jim. This guy fits my description." And indeed Relsford and Sandburg matched in many ways. Allen had the long, curly hair and deep blue eyes, even the same build. Blair repressed the shudder which tried to shake his spine, he didn’t like the thoughts swirling around inside his head. But that would have to wait, Jim was his primary concern and that overrode everything.

"Breathe, Jim," he commanded when it appeared the older man had stopped, "take a deep breath and listen to me." Gradually color began to return to Ellison’s ashen skin, his features lost the blank look, falling into his usual expression. Light blue eyes blinked, pupils rapidly expanding as the last flicker of match light died. "Shit," Blair cursed, "Jim, I’m going to switch on the light." Sandburg groped his way across the room, and turned the small round knob beside the door. Light cascaded over the room and the four men in their various positions. "Oh, man," Blair uttered softly. 

"Jim, don’t do this," he coaxed, "I need you with me here. I’m kinda scared." This time his hand closed on living flesh, but there was no more response than he’d received when he had touched the dead man. "Jim," keeping his tone soothing, calling to the flickering consciousness he knew had lost its way in the storm of sensation, Blair scrambled for a reaction. "This guy, this dead guy, he looks like me, Jim. He’s a match for my description." And indeed, if someone had been given a description of Sandburg, Relsford could have easily been mistaken for him. Allen had the long, curly hair and deep blue eyes, even the same short, slender build. Blair smashed the shudder which tried to shake his spine, he didn’t like the thoughts swirling around inside his head. Close to panic, more afraid than he’d been since surfacing in the north Atlantic without Jim beside him, Blair focused his attention on the here and now, Jim was his primary concern and that overrode everything. Dazed, blank eyes stared fixedly at the opposite wall. Blair moved closer, holding the match up until he could see tiny dancing reflections in those troubled eyes. But that was the only spark, no trace of the man he loved appeared. Jim was lost somewhere in the hell of his senses.

"Breathe, Jim," he commanded when it appeared the older man had stopped, "take a deep breath and listen to me." Gradually color began to return to Ellison’s ashen skin, his features lost the blank look, falling into his usual expression. Light blue eyes blinked, pupils rapidly expanding as the last flicker of match light died. "Shit," Blair cursed when it finally went out, "Jim, I’m going to switch on the light." Sandburg groped his way across the room, and turned the small round knob beside the door. Light cascaded over the chamber and the four men in their various positions. "Oh, god," Blair uttered in a soft, broken plea. 

It shouldn’t look like paint, Blair’s numbed mind told him. Blood wasn’t suppose to look like some careless soul had tipped a paint pot over and let it splatter. It should be dark and forbidding, as ghastly as life ebbing away. But this was bright red, cheerful red, screaming red, and it’s canvas included everything in the room; the floor, the bedding, the limp body and - and Jim. Blair, fighting down the bile rising in his throat, forded the sticky river which still trickled slowly from Relsford’s lifeless body and knelt cautiously beside his lover. Blood trickling down Jim’s left cheek from the nick in his flesh, it dripped onto the crisp white undershirt he wore making him appear some bloodstained sentinel standing guard over a gruesome land. His clenched fists were slathered to mid-forearm, and had left gory palm prints on everything he’d touched. Blood, drained from Relsford’s slit throat, smeared across his shirtfront and beneath his cooling body, had caused the two combatants to slip and skid on the floor. 

"Jim? What should we do?" Blair asked. His gaze dropped to the stranger Ellison had beaten, sickened by the way the man’s jaw hung at an odd angle, tongue protruding like raw meat. "Come on, Jim," he continued to urge his lover verbally, while his hands coaxed him physically. For several tense seconds Ellison merely stared then he shook himself and nodded slightly.

"I want you to go back to our room...," Jim started but Blair cut him off.

"No way! We’re in this together......."

"I know that, Blair," Jim gripped his lover’s shoulder, shaking him gently. "Listen to me. You said it yourself, Relsford looks...looked like you. People saw he and I together downstairs at supper. I told you about the searing pain, you said it had to have been triggered by something around me. What if it was his voice?" He nudged his attacker’s leg, "this is Sam Brinning, he works for my father."

"Oh my god," Blair breathed quietly. "He...he was trying...he wanted to kill.....me." The conviction, the acceptance in Sandburg’s voice made Jim ache. 

"But he didn’t," Jim said. "Now get out of here and let me take care of this mess." He shoved Sandburg from the room and waited until Blair had started down the hallway before bending to the task he’d set himself.

Blair, his heart thumping madly, backed away, eyes never leaving Jim’s face. The courage and strength he saw there kept him moving, kept him upright when all he wanted to do was curl up like a child. He stumbled into the hall, closing his eyes finally to the sight of Jim bending over those hideous figures, drew in a deep breath and began to move away. He had to get hold of himself, of his emotions but the single fact that the dead man wore a semblance of his own face tore through him. Somehow this Sam Brinning had mistaken Relsford for him and now Relsford lay dead. But you’re alive! his mind screamed in accusation. He was alive and so was Jim and for these two small miracles he was grateful.

Thinking of his lover banished some of the horror and by the time he’d reached their room, Blair had become consumed by the mysterious episode which had afflicted Jim. Ellison had twice experienced unbearable flashes of pain. A thousand questions circled in Sandburg’s mind, endless possibilities crowded his thoughts and sent him to the writing desk in search of paper and ink. He sat down, already poring over the slim collection of books he’d managed to acquire during their brief time in New York, absorbed by the sheer wonder of his lover’s senses. He had no idea how long he sat there, the golden lamplight gradually paling as morning sunlight streamed into the room, but when the door opened and a weary Ellison shambled inside Blair rose from his chair, muscles protesting loudly the sudden movement.

The rusty stains streaked across Jim’s shirt, the haunted eyes which fastened to his face, devouring his features, cast Blair back into the nightmare from which he’d managed to free himself for a time. "Jim!" he cried and rushed to embrace the larger man, arms crushing in their need to hold his lover. The trembling muscles beneath his hands prompted Blair to lead Ellison to the bed and force him to lie down. "Rest, baby," he crooned and watched the tormented eyes reluctantly close. Working deftly, Blair stripped away the soiled shirt, sponging off the dried streaks of blood which clung to Jim’s hands and arms. Ellison didn’t stir, eyelashes fanned across too pale cheeks, exhausted by all that had happened. Blair carefully removed the rest of Jim’s clothes, amazed that the sight of Jim’s beautiful body didn’t bring its usual rush of desire. The hunger still lurked within him, but it had been tamped down by the overpowering necessity to care for his oddly vulnerable mate. Sandburg pulled a blanket over his lover, leaned down and reverently kissed the high forehead then went back to his writing. Some time later an insistent knock on the door brought him out of the research he’d undertaken. 

Blair snatched up the iron poker which had rested against the mantel of the small coal grate and pressed himself against the wall. "Yes?" he called.

"Blair?" Megan’s voice sent relief coursing through his veins, replacing the dread which had filled him. Sandburg hurriedly opened the door, allowing Megan to enter. "Are you all right?" the young Australian asked, eyes rapidly scanning Sandburg. "It’s all over the morning papers.....," her nervous chatter trailed off when the sharp brown eyes fastened on Jim’s still slumbering form. "Oh, he looks...," she shot Sandburg a distressed glance. "It says here Jim stopped an attack on an unknown companion, apprehending the assailant after a vicious struggle."

"Let me see," Blair said and took the newspaper Megan carried. There on an inner page headlines blared a slightly altered account of the previous night’s horror. In the article no mention of Allen Relsford appeared, instead the man was identified only as a close companion of Mr. James Ellison. The reporter had obviously done some research, stating that Jim had checked into the Robidoux under an assumed name for fear of his life and that of his friend. Ellison, described by the reporter as extremely distressed by his friend’s death, was quoted as saying "a business acquaintance had vowed retribution for a situation gone bad and this is just the sort of thing he would do." Mr. Ellison gave no indications for his future, saying only "he needed time to recuperate from the loss of his beloved friend."

"I don’t understand," Blair whispered.

"I fed him that story to save us both." Blair whirled around, capturing his lover with startled eyes. "It’s the only way, Chief," Jim continued. He motioned Blair closer, tugging him down to sit on the bed beside him. "Remember what you told me last night?"

Sandburg’s brows furrowed, the night’s ghastly memory couldn’t be erased from his mind, no matter how he longed for it, but Jim was searching for a specific thing. "You mean," he met those clear blue eyes, "the fact he...looks...looked like me?"

"Yes, exactly," Jim answered. "I told you Brinning saw me with Relsford. He must have mistaken Allen for you and followed him to his room."

"How does this save us?" Blair asked quietly. His gaze lingered on the article, troubled eyes rereading of another man’s death for the only crime of bearing too close a resemblance to himself.

"I kept Relsford’s name out of the paper," Jim said. "Brinning and my father will be convinced you’re dead and I am in hiding because of my grief." Ellison reached out, one finger softly tracing Sandburg’s cheek as if to reassure himself Blair really sat beside him. "I think we’re free now, Blair. I think we can finally do all the things we’ve planned." 

Sandburg sat in stunned silence, more than a little uncomfortable with the fact an innocent man had gone to his grave in Blair’s place. He didn’t know what to think or say, what to feel and his guilt manifested itself in anger. "Free! Your father tracks us like animals, kills a man who’s only crime was looking like me and you sit there making these big fucking plans."

"Yes," Ellison snapped. "Yes, I’m making plans. We’re alive, Blair," his powerful hand shot out, capturing Sandburg’s wrist in a painful grip, "you and I get a second chance....no, a third chance. What the hell will it take to prove to you that we’re suppose to be together?" He dropped the slender wrist and closed his eyes, drained of fight, weary in a way he couldn’t begin to explain. "What the hell will it take?" he whispered.

Blair opened his mouth but words failed him. He turned to Megan, she had tears in her eyes and an anguished twist to her lips. Slowly, drawn by a force which had led him to the man he loved, Blair went back to the bed and sat down. Jim didn’t move, didn’t even open his eyes. "It will take every ounce of your strength, Jim. It will take all our lives. Will you spend it with me, telling me over and over that it’s right?" Like sunrise on a summer’s day, the gaze which met Blair’s melted away the midnight storm. Bathed in warmth, Sandburg let himself be pulled into a bone-crushing embrace.

"Jim.....damn," Simon Banks stood in the doorway, fidgeting as he looked every place but towards the bed, "sorry. I spoke with the night clerk, he remembered seeing a couple of men hanging around but couldn’t say for sure if one of them was Brinning." Banks grimaced, "I don’t think Brinning’s own mother could identify him right now. And the other matter is all set. He’ll met you at the arena this morning." 

Megan wiped at tear eyes and took Simon’s arm. "Come along, Simon," she coaxed, "I do believe you’re blushing."

When the door closed behind them, Blair shared a long look with Jim. They burst into laughter, relief making them giddy until Blair sobered enough to ask, "what did Simon mean? What’s all set?"

"You’ll see," Ellison answered, "but first say "good morning" to me properly." He pulled Sandburg back down on the bed, tossed the blanket over both their heads and took his lover’s lips with his own. Sandburg’s clothes disappeared beneath quick hands, leaving goose flesh despite the heat trapped in their little tent. Their lovemaking verged on a religious experience. Jim worshipped his lover’s body, caressing every inch of flesh with his mouth, making a pilgrimage with fingertips so sensitive he could follow the course of a vein by the heat of blood. Jim used his own body to declare his love, tongue seeking Blair’s pleasure until the smaller man cried out in a mixture of pain and joy at the sweet agony being waged against him. Ellison nudged his lover over onto his stomach, mouth blazing a trail down the long curve of back, suckling the knots of his spine like sweet candy. When he reached the cleft which divided the ripe fruit of buttocks, Jim delved deep, probing with urgency. Sandburg groaned, hands twisting in the sheets, writhing as he the invader demanded more. He rose to his knees, held there by Jim’s hands, waiting as the hot tongue abandoned him and the nub of his lover’s cock took its place.

"Yes," Blair growled. "Do it, Jim," and Ellison eased into his body. When he had completely sheathed himself in the fiery channel, Jim tightened his arms, bringing Blair up to his chest. He kissed a path across the wide shoulders, marveling at the strength concealed in Sandburg’s body. His hands slid along Blair’s hips, up the satin planes of his sides, across the corded arms, taking the smaller hands into his and holding them wide spread. Touching only at cock and hands, Jim began whispering to his lover, "make me come like this. Make love to me with your words, Blair."

"I love you," the breathless voice swore. "More than life, Jim. I want to be with you, hold you, kiss you, and make love to you for the rest of my life. No matter what, Jim, I’ll love you. I don’t care if this moment is our last. Each time I hold you I don’t care if we die right then, because I know we’ve loved each other with every beat of our hearts, every breath in our bodies." Jim focused on the velvet whisper, every word pierced his heart, filling him with sweet pain. The sound of his lover’s voice, the magnitude of the words Blair spoke, touched the deepest wells of his soul. He let that sultry murmur wind itself around each fiber of his being, breathing in the whisperings, stoking his passion as if it were the gentle fingers in his. The sound of Blair, the vibration carried across the bridge of their joined hands, caressed his skin raising gooseflesh along with molten desire. Each syllable Sandburg uttered caused his flesh to tingle, Jim fell into the sensation, swept away by mere words, shaken to the core by the things Blair vowed to him. He added his own pledges, counterpoint to the husky growl of Sandburg’s, poured out with desperate need. Hot blood pooled in Jim’s groin, scalding his flesh. He thrust into the willing body he held crucified by his love, pounding his passion into Blair. His younger lover pushed back, impaling himself fully, crying out as Ellison pulled his arms further back and powerful hips surged forward. Pinned like a butterfly, Blair cried out, shouting incoherently, harmony to Jim’s roar, both coming by the power of their desire for each other. They collapsed together, folding into a curl of bodies; arms and legs tangled hotly, ragged breaths mingled, hearts hammering in unison. Jim pushed back the sweat dampened curls over Blair’s forehead and gently kissed his fevered skin before snaking his hand beneath Blair’s body.

"Too late," Sandburg said when questing fingers found evidence of his own release. "God, Jim, that was...too much." He rolled over, burrowing against Jim’s heaving chest and, wiping at the sweat cooling on that smooth temple build to his worship, he asked, "what’s the plan?"

Jim laughed. "You’re like a bulldog, aren’t you?" He pressed a tender kiss to Blair’s temple, "we’re joining the Wild West Show."

Blair stared up at his lover for a second then shook his head, "I’m sorry, Jim," he said, "I thought you said we were joining the Wild West Show."

"I did and we are."

* * *

The glass ball shot skyward, tumbling through the blue like a small world in an orbit of its own around the sun. Colors erupted from its spinning surface, sending kaleidoscopic spears into Ellison’s eyes. Following its path as if it were a brilliant guidon, Jim could not tear his gaze from it. He watched helplessly as each color fragmented, splintered and dissolved into whiteness. He could feel himself dragged along in its wake, powerless to look away and for a terrifying instant the warm, spring morning transformed itself into frigid waters and he a drowning man. And then a wave of warmth rose up, cresting over his shoulders and wrapping around him. 

"Jim, listen to me. Come back to me," and the fantastical wheeling globe resolved itself into an ordinary glass ball, tossed by an Sioux Indian brave in full war dress, and smashed to the ground with a satisfying crack. "Well, Colby," Buffalo Bill drawled, "that was most....impressive." 

"Give us a second," Sandburg asked and turned back to Ellison. "Okay, don’t focus so hard, Jim. I want you to use your sight, but also your hearing. Listen to the wind whistling over it, see it arching in a determined path." He waited, watching as Ellison mentally digested his words, expression skeptical, before he nodded slowly.

"Whatever you say, Chief," Jim agreed. "Toss another one, Grey Wolf," he called to the Indian. Riding hell bent for leather, the young Sioux whirled around the arena. On the far side, over a hundred yards from where Ellison, Sandburg, Colonel Cody and the others stood, he flung the globe high into the air. Jim Ellison forced the air from his lungs, sighted the rifle just in front of the ball and squeezed the trigger. He’d never watched a bullet explode from the barrel of a gun before, but now with his heightened senses he witnessed its escape, following it as it streaked across the sky and impacted with the spinning ball. Glass turned to fragments, peppering the air. "Perfect!" Blair crowed. Grey Wolf hurled three more in rapid succession, each thrown high and long and each broken with a single shot from the lever action Ellison used. 

Colonel Cody’s delight rang out in the sudden stillness, "magnificent, sonny!" he bellowed. Jim could almost see the dollar signs ticking over in the wily blue eyes. The Old Scout’s financial troubles were the stuff of headlines; lawsuits, extravagant spending sprees, generous gifts to widows and orphans, and Cody needed money. "Little Sure Shot", Annie Oakley, had been the star attraction of Cody’s show for seventeen years, and despite injuries in a tragic train wreck a few years back , she had continued to amaze the audience night after night with her masterful skills with a gun. But if something new, some sharpshooter who could give the show’s sweetheart a run for the money, dropped into Cody’s lap he’d be a fool not to take it. "You got yourself a job," the Colonel declared, slapping Jim on the shoulder. "Get yourself gussied up at the train. You go on tonight at eight." With that he strolled away, a lone white figure in a drab world. 

"Show off," Blair teased. "You just want people to drop to their knees in awe of you."

"I want you to drop to your knees," Jim whispered and then laughed when Blair’s cheeks flushed scarlet. "Look, tonight is Cody’s last show in St. Jo, tomorrow we’ll be on our way to Denver and from there we’ll head north to Washington. We’ll be safe once we get on that train," Jim said. Sandburg stared at him, dark eyes unreadable. 

* * *

8 o’clock arrived and with it a crowd the likes of which Jim had only seen boarding the Titanic in Southampton. He squared his shoulders, the unfamiliar weight of a fancy buckskin coat almost uncomfortable, and glanced over at the man walking beside him. Blair felt his gaze, meeting it with arched eyebrows.

"What?" Blair asked.

Ellison shrugged, "I feel a little foolish, I guess." Long fringe trimmed the arms and shoulders of his jacket, licking the air like snakes as he walked, slapping against his sides and Blair’s skin as they strolled along, hands brushing casually. He tilted the white Stetson he wore further down over his eyes and switched the silver plated Winchester to the opposite hand. "I want you where I can see you," Jim said. "If my father sent someone else, other than Brinning, they might try and get to you tonight." 

"Yeah, but Brinning’s jaw is broken in three places, Jim," Blair insisted, tugging at the trailing leather strips until the larger man stopped, "he couldn’t say one way or the other if the dead man was me."

"True," Ellison conceded, "I just hope Simon and Megan got all the gear from the hotel moved to Cody’s train before anyone suspects we’ve gone." They moved through the crowd, dodging children running and whooping like imagined Indians and real Indians strolling among the throngs with quiet dignity. After being hired, Jim and Blair had presented themselves at Cody’s train, awed despite themselves at the sight of twenty-six snow white coaches unloading cowboys, Indians, horses, wagons, buffalo, deer, elk and cattle. Buffalo Bill’s personal Pullman lead the snaking line, a refuge in the midst of activity. Jim had been fitted from the stores of costumes carried, refusing a garish "Western" outfit with silver conchos, flashy belt buckle and ten gallon hat. Instead he’d selected the buttery coat with its long fringe, the white hat and blue cavalry trousers. He looked like a chiseled figure from a time gone by and Blair had whistled long and low at his first sight of the Wild West’s newest star.

By the time they reached the ring, Buffalo Bill had already taken the center on his creamy stallion, the spotlight sparkling over his white clothing and the long silver hair revealed when he swept off his hat. The crowd, which had thundered with applause at his entrance fell silent, moved by the Old Scout’s words of farewell. William Cody, his words perfected by countless recitation, touched their hearts and ignited their excitement. The Colonel retreated amid a roar of approval, replaced by a stampede of horses and riders, all chased by colorful savages bent on massacring them for the two hundredth time that year.

The spectacle went on and on; Custer’s Last Stand acted out with painful solemnity, raids on wagon trains heading west, Indians hunting buffalo, every aspect of western life recreated in idealized extravagance. The crowd went wild, rooting for the cowboys, booing and hissing the Indians and when Annie Oakley emerged from the staging area, their applause made Ellison wince. Beside him, Sandburg squeezed closer to the railings in an effort not to miss anything. Jim stepped back, drawing Blair in front of him and then pressed himself tightly to Blair’s warm back. There was something highly erotic about it; standing in the midst of a huge crowd, his body smashed against his lover’s and he wasn’t allowed to do anything. Blair, as if reading his thoughts and maybe the groin which fit snugly against his ass, turned a blazing look up at him. "James," he warned, "don’t even think about it." His eyes twinkled and almost like a voice in his head, Jim heard his lover’s laugh.

"I wouldn’t dare," Jim lied.

Annie Oakley whirled into action, constantly in motion. She shot glass balls tossed aloft, she blasted targets backwards while looking in a hand mirror, and incredibly, she shot a potato from her dog’s head as he sat on a table. Saint Joseph’s citizens, like the rest of the country, fell in love with the plucky heroine. Jim took a deep breath, nodded to his lover and made his way out into the arena on the opposite side from Annie. He could hear the crowd like some giant cicada in a nearby oak tree. His heart broke from its mooring in his chest and leapt into his throat when they announced his challenge to the little sharpshooter. As the challenger, he had to shoot first, and with Annie’s amazing skills still fresh in the crowd’s memory, her charm palpable, there were more than a few disparaging remarks made about Jim’s supposed abilities. Ignoring the cacophony of sounds which assailed him, Jim stepped boldly forward. Just below the jumbled noises, like a whisper in his ear, Blair’s heartbeat reached him. The beloved voice, when it came, acted like a balm to his rattled nerves, "make me proud, Jim." Ellison’s eyes sought and found his lover within the huge crowd. Every distraction faded under that loving gaze, and Jim signaled his readiness.

Jim lost himself in the moment, for the first time in his life he felt...right, as if he were a giant and could conquer any foe he faced. He performed the feats he’d practiced that afternoon, shooting things other eyes could barely see as easily as he’d ever done anything in his life. His senses enhanced his natural abilities, let him see, hear, and feel the targets which spun through the air. Ellison savored the thrill of it all, the exhilaration of fulfilling his potential. At one point, with Annie firing away at the glass balls tossed by two assistants, Jim leapt onto a timber used in the mock battles, balancing as he did on the logs at the mill, and shot a row of water filled glasses held aloft by one of the stagehands. 

The crack of his rifle, the smell of the cordite and the shower of glass which exploded with each shot, filled him. Jim reveled in the exhibition of what he could do with his heightened senses. Some of the instinctive need he had to protect others lessened, lulled by Buffalo Bill’s illusions. He met every obstacle, shooting with Annie Oakley shot for shot. She had speed and an uncanny ability to know exactly where a target would fly and Jim struggled to match her. In the end, the little lady bested him with a shot which took out the center of a dime at nearly one hundred feet. But the crowd had been impressed by his skills and Jim silently thanked his lover for helping him master his senses enough to do it. Coming down from the intoxicating rush, Jim sought his lover’s presence in the horde of people which pressed closer to the two sharpshooters. 

The place where Blair had stood bled empty silence like a wound in crowd’s flesh. The complete absence of that essential form drew a gasp from Ellison. He froze, hearing stretched to the limits as he searched for his lover but save for a faint lingering scent, Sandburg had disappeared. "Great job, Colby," William Cody thundered, slapping Jim’s shoulder. "I thought there for a moment you might beat Missie," he beamed at the tiny sharpshooter.

"You know better than that, Colonel," Annie said with a laugh. Her sharp glance fell on the silent Ellison, concern marring her girlish features, "are you all right, Mr. Colby?"

Jim had never been further from all right in his life, but he couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t tell anyone anything, all he could do was wallow in the hell of his fears. From the first moment they had met, Jim’s instinct had been to pull Blair nearer. The only peace and happiness he’d ever known had come with the younger man’s entrance into his life, and the aching need Sandburg had stirred within his heart, terrified Jim. He wanted Blair beside him every moment of the day, when before something had forced him to keep people away. With the return of his sentinel abilities had come vulnerability, he couldn’t function without Sandburg, he could no longer live without the man who held the reins on his senses and who had gathered them on his heart as well. When he had lost Blair in the icy waters after the Titanic went down under them, he had welcomed death, thankful only that his lover still lived. Abducted from his lover’s side, held prisoner in a drugged limbo, his solace had been Blair’s freedom, but now there was nothing, nothing but the gut-eating terror. Blair had saved him; from insanity, from loneliness, from a life spent never knowing what he truly was. Jim had opened himself after years of guarding his heart, of hiding his feelings. Blair had let him be true to his own nature as a sentinel and as a man who dared a forbidden love. To have that ripped away left a black hole into which he could actually feel himself falling.

"Jim?" Simon’s deep voice reached through the gathering blackness and forced a reaction. Ellison shook his head, looking up into Banks’ eyes. He realized he had been standing in the same spot, unmoving, for several minutes now. 

"B-Blair!" he gasped and, heedless of the stares, pushed his way through the crowd, following the faint left by his lover. Control wavered, Jim stumbled and faltered as sounds crashed in his ears and his eyesight faded then sharpened to alarming clarity. He strained to hear any sound, any hint of where Blair had gone and just as he thought he would go insane from not knowing the scent of blood - Blair’s blood swept over him.

The inherent power inside him, the animal which had always lurked somewhere deep within, sprang to the fore. It overrode the man he had always thought he was and made him what he had always truly been - a Sentinel. Jim submerged himself in this new being, he gave it command of his soul and set it to the task. Other people became foreign objects, they made noise, their scent mingled with that of his quarry, their movements registered on some part of his brain, but the focal point of his existence narrowed itself to the faint trace of his lover’s blood which called to his own. Vaguely he knew Simon and Megan trailed in his wake, their voices batting at his awareness like buzzing flies, but nothing could shake him from his goal. Objects, buildings maybe, blocked his path forcing him to detour but the wind brought him the tang of blood and he plunged onward. 

Ellison cocked his head, scenting the wind as he reached the edge of the fairgrounds. Behind him the labored breathing and muttered curses of his two companions drifted closer, but Jim didn’t notice. His entire attention had fixed itself on a smear of scarlet on the side of an automobile. His eyesight sharpened until the thin splotch filled his field of view, it was all he could see. Stumbling over feet too slow, Jim staggered towards the stain. He knew it was Blair’s even before he reached it, he stood there staring, unable to look away until Megan collided with him.

"Jim," she panted then caught sight of what had trapped his notice. "That’s blood! Do you think it’s...it’s Blair’s?" Jim didn’t answer, he waved her to silence and stretched out his hearing, searching for some sign of his lover. At first the rush of sound roared inside his head, making his fist clench until his fingers ached, and then slowly he filtered out the noises until only one remained.

‘....have to do this,’ Sandburg’s voice echoed hollowly, ‘you won’t get away with it.’ They were just ahead, scant yards separated Jim from what he desired most in the world. He began to run, he turned the beast inside of him loose, letting it control his legs as will as his mind. He had no recollection of his flight, the world passed in a blur of sensation, all he knew was that Blair faced danger. Instinct lent him speed, he covered the ground in seconds, homing in on the sound. Blair’s voice grew louder in his ears, leading him further down King Hill Avenue and straight towards the stockyards. Jim raced on, bounding over rail fences with feline agility, darting through the maze of pens until his intuition pointed him towards a chute in the south end. He flew over the five foot high railings, landing with a muffled thud on the wooden planks.

"What the...?" Ellison didn’t give the man a chance to finish his question. Blood splattered the boards when Jim’s fist slammed into the man’s face, the Colt he’d clutched dropping from nerveless fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Sandburg aim a powerful kick at the man’s backside. With a wild cry, the figure spun over the top most railing and splashed into the muddy lot below. Jim spared the man a glance, just to make sure he wasn’t still capable of moving, then turned to meet the man who launched himself into Jim’s arms.

"Jim!" Blair cried, "god, I thought I’d never see you again!"

"I had the same thought," Ellison murmured into the thick curls crushed to his face. "When I realized you were gone," Jim swallowed hard, forcing the remembered horror back into the box he reserved for such bleak things, "when I realized you were gone something happened." He pulled back, looking into deep blue eyes filled with questions, "I could feel something else taking over. Like I wasn’t me anymore, but something bigger, something primal, able to track you through New York City if I had to." Sandburg’s smile broke shown like sunshine.

"You could, Jim," he assured the older man, "you could find me any place in the world."

* * *

The train’s light split the darkness like a golden knife, slicing a path westward and leaving St. Joseph far behind. Jim Ellison rested his cheek on his fist, gazing down at the figure painted silver and blue in the starlight. He never wanted to move, he wanted to lie there for the rest of his life and just look at Blair. He lasted ten minutes. The skin of his fingers actually itched, the need to touch his lover a physical ache which couldn’t be denied. He reached out, lightly trailing one fingertip along the silken skin over Blair’s ribs, watching intently as the flesh quivered. Expanding his experiment, Jim gently brushed through the soft hair which spread across Sandburg’s chest. His exploration produced a heavy sigh, and he smiled. Emboldened by the response, he lowered his lips to the places his fingers had mapped, kissing softly the warmth he found there.

"Do that again," Sandburg whispered. The vibration of his words made Jim’s lips tingle. His tormented groan came out muffled against Blair’s chest, making the younger man squirm. "Not that!" Blair squealed, "Jim, stop tickling me!" He thrust one hand against Ellison’s chest and pushed. Gaining a slight distance, he glared at Jim, "do you want me to make you sorry?"

"No," Jim answered, moving slowly nearer until his cheek rested against Sandburg’s forehead, "I just want you to make me happy." He kissed the sweet mouth which lifted to his, drinking in the love Blair filled him with and thanking god that he had found, not only a guide through the maze of his senses, but also the other half of his soul. What had begun with tragedy in the middle of the Atlantic and wound its way with fear across half the country, had finally come within reach. When he closed his eyes and felt the arms around him pull him tighter, Jim knew he had chosen the right path. 

The train rolled along on its journey north and west, inside Buffalo Bill Cody played cards with his cowboys, a Sioux Indian named White Eagle retold the tales he’d heard as a boy, Annie Oakley and her husband Frank Butler thought about retirement, and Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg planned a life together. Just as their journey to Cascade, Washington would take a twisting path and a few detours, the journey to that life would have unexpected complications. Some pleasant, one or two dangerous, all of them bringing growth and change to the pair, but more importantly, all of them being faced together. The train rolled on, destined for heaven....at least in one Pullman compartment. 

* * *

The End


End file.
